


True North

by aeryn_sun



Category: Cardinal (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, I’m sorry for all the angst!, No Fluff, Scars, So much angst, i’m not a monster, there will be smut, these two fucking idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:06:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26955562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeryn_sun/pseuds/aeryn_sun
Summary: Don’t kill me ☺️ I’ve had a bit of writer’s block and  I swear I tried writing something light  and fluffy and … just couldn’t find the right footing. Ugh and this one has been hiding in a dark, terrible corner of my mind and somehow I had no problems with this angstfest. So here goes nothing … welcome to ‘Bright shiny futures are overrated anyway’. No, I’m not actually that messed up… this might have a silver lining somewhere. After generous helpings of massive angst and whump.So what if … they didn’t figure it out at the end of S4? What if they went their separate ways, John going down that dark rabbit hole and all of Kelly’s warnings thrown to the wind? What if he let her walk out of his life? What if he’d kept doing that job that grinds him down? What then?
Relationships: John Cardinal & Lise Delorme, John Cardinal/Lise Delorme
Comments: 34
Kudos: 35





	1. Un

Lise Delorme rapidly climbed the ranks of the Toronto Police Service. She’d quickly made a name for herself at 40 College St, not just for her sharp intelligence, her deductive skills or her clearance rate on the homicide squad that was easily triple that of seasoned, senior officers. ‘Learned from the best’ she would say.   
  
But the brass also took note of how easily she led, how tactfully she maneuvered political minefields and how clear and level-headed her decision-making was even under the most stressful of circumstances and within two years, she was promoted to Sergeant and leading her own squad. And if anything, it made her more dogged and more determined. She practically lived at the precinct.   
  
The rumor mill, spearheaded by jealous colleagues passed over and lacking her intuition, had it she was sleeping herself up the ranks, when she was in truth working ten times harder than anyone and she made Detective Sergeant within another two and was admired and feared just as much by those who worked for her, because she never took a break and she never made a mistake and she was relentless.  
  
She’d long gone become the rising star of the TPS and rumor had it she’d be the youngest to make Inspector and already her name and ‘First Female Chief’ appeared in the same sentences. Her commanding officers, behind closed doors, sometimes voiced concerns over her lack of balance in life, her lack of close friends or family, but she was a proficient and exemplary officer and no one could fault her for her lack of a social life. She was a workaholic, but never showed signs of moodiness or fatigue and was a model for professional excellence.  
  
Until a coincidence stopped her short in her tracks and threw her off balance. It was a high profile case, a media circus over a shoot out that had somehow turned into a violent frenzy that ended withthe bloodiest day on record within the larger Toronto area, the perpetrators still on the run despite a massive manhunt and half the city locked down.. It had been the third bank robbery in less than a month, that had every appearance of not being about robbing a bank at all, but about leaving behind a blood bath that rivaled any butcher’s and major crimes and homicide working hand in hand tofinally apprehend the perpetrators.  
  
While her DCs were busy interviewing witnesses and cataloguing the crime scene, she’d held a brief press conference with the DS from the Crimes Division, presenting a calm and united front and assuring the public that they were in control and those responsible would be brought to swift and determined justice. 

And it was in that exact moment that she saw him, out of the corner of her eye, being questioned by Hanson. And she felt her legs go weak, the feeling of a part of her stomach dropping into nothingness, a hole opening up beneath her. She carried on automatically, like a robot, after faltering mid-sentence, however briefly.

She had not seen him or spoken to him in over five years. Not after that day, out there by the frozen lake, when they’d said goodbye and made promises they had not kept. She’d waited, waited for a sign from him, the way she had waited for so long. Days had turned into weeks that had turned into months. Frustrated and anxious, she’d tried … once. It had not been a good time, him being in the midst of an intense case. She was afraid of the humiliation of trying again, of chasing after him, unsure of his feelings. He’d never said… what it meant to him. What _she_ meant to him.

He looked … terrible, to say the least. Maybe it was his bloodstained shirt, or whatever it had been that he had witnessed. But he was pale and he looked _old_. As if his perpetual frown had turned into weathered, leathery wrinkles. His short cropped hair had an unkempt feeling to it, maybe the result of the cold sweat of having gotten shot at. But the salt and pepper tones certainly weren’t. Back _then_ it had just been his beard and the hair at his temple that had started going gray. He looked … shaggy, but despite _everything_ , she felt the fire ignite. He’d lost none of what had made him so … compelling. Of what made her react to him, his body, his presence.

After the press conference, Hanson came over, John in tow and was about to introduce him.

“John.” She’d uttered, a little too breathlessly for her liking.

“Lise.”

At the way he’d said her name, Hanson wanted to beat a hasty retreat. The guy had said he was a cop. He should have realized they knew each other, he said he was visiting his daughter, down from Algonquin Bay.And the way he had not met his eyes, the way his eyes had drifted to the press conference… he hadn’t realized it was because he knew her. He’d been very detailed, concise with his answers. They’d need him to sit down with a sketch artist and he managed to tell her as much ...

“Are you injured?” She croaked.

“I’m fine.” He replied gruffly. “Tried to keep a guy from bleeding out. Paramedics took him.”

Was her relief too openly written on her face?

“Kelly, is she…?”

“Uh, she was on her way … I was waiting for her … damn.” He said distractedly, searching his pockets for his phone. “She won’t be able to get through. She’ll be worried sick.I should … call her.”

“Uhm, yeah … go. Can you come by the HQ tomorrow morning? Give a full statement and sit down with a sketch artist?” She was wringing her hands.

“Yeah, thanks.” He said, his large hand reaching out and briefly and gently brushing her own cold hands, before turning and heading towards the exit. The warmth of his touch and the familiarity of the soft expression in his eyes left her breathless.

“Can you leave your details with an officer?” she called after him.

And as he turned around, phone already to his ear, finally answering Kelly’s frantic calls, an unreadable expression crossing his features – guilt? Regret? “Still the same number. I’ll stay with Kelly for as long as you need me to stay.”

“Kay.” She’d replied.

“I’m sorry.” A pained expression crossing his features. He had a hard time tearing himself away, but Kelly had finally picked up. “Kelly? Kelly, I’m fine. Coming out to find you!”

Keeping his eyes on her for as long as he could, he backed his way out of the crowd, through the large glass doors and with one final, longing look back, he’d disappeared into the frenzy outside. 

What the fuck had he meant by that?


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this was going to be smutty as hell? *innocently raising my hands*  
> I've had a week, my friends, let me NOT tell you about it and rather let you enjoy me completely avoiding reality for a while there.

John was kneeling over the guy who’d stood in line in front of him. Young, early thirties maybe, expensive suit, leather shoes, well cared for. His knees started to protest, but he kept steady pressure, pressing his scarf onto the wound that bore into the man’s pectoral muscle, blood gushing out if he loosened the pressure. Blood on the marble floor where it seeped out the exit wound. He tried to speak to him, assuring him that help was on the way. 

And he wondered how he had deserved to make it out of this unscathed. Again.

He’d been standing in line, but got distracted and leaned against a marble pillar, listening to Kelly’s voice message relaying that she’d been help up at work and she was hurrying to make their appointment. It was supposed to be a happy day, co-signing her mortgage. She’d gotten a job at an art gallery, allowing her plenty of time to paint. She couldn’t afford it, not really, but he’d sold the house and the apartment and he didn’t need much.

He hadn’t noticed until the first body had hit the floor and people had started screaming in panic. Somehow, he’d managed to overhear the machine gun being fired. Back and forth. He hadn’t been covered behind the pillar, just lucky. When he finally got the wind knocked out of him by what was happening, he dropped to the floor, taking cover, his hand going to his gun … that wasn’t where it usually sat. He was off duty, after all. 

He was staring at the glazed red circles spreading on the marble floor, willing himself to focus. Three gunmen and he was trying to memorize their build and height, whatever he could make out under the masks. White skin, maybe red hair on one? When they’d grabbed the bags of money and had fired off far more rounds than necessary, they made a run for it, following a marked emergency exit. That’s when he saw him, the guy in the blue suit. By the time he heard the sirens, the blood had started to congeal and the young man’s skin had gone pale and clammy. When the first paramedics rushed in, he’d lost consciousness and he’d taken off his winter jacket and his suit jacket, draping them over his torso and legs. His hand was starting to ache where he was pushing his wrist down over the wound. 

He’d been dazed, his knees, wrists and back aching when the paramedics had relieved him and started bagging the young man immediately. The rush of adrenaline was wearing off and he suddenly felt tired to the bones and lightheaded. They were supposed to be having lunch after their appointment. He hadn’t had anything to eat all day, just a cup of coffee before he’d driven down. 

A young copper, slender, wiry, blond, but already balding had approached him, inquired about his injuries and where he had been when the shooting began. Fresh-faced young man. His mind was foggy and he was trying to do his best to remember and relay what had happened. He gave descriptions, as well as he could. His eyes were drifting, unfocused, trying to conjure up what he had seen. 

Instead, of their own accord, they’d sought out something entirely different. Someone entirely familiar. His subconscious had sensed her, long before his conscious mind had realized what he was looking for. And his heartrate sped up again, his breathing quickening as he felt the shock of seeing her hit his system. 

And of its own accord, his mind supplied snippets, fragments of random memories. Across from him, her head buried in a file. A smile, somewhere in the dark, illuminated by a pair of headlights that interrupted a moment of warm companionship. The way her smell would engulf him when she got in their patrol car, warm and familiar in the crisp winter air. He’d probably smelled her, first. The way her eyes darkened when she was nearly crying. And the way they shone up at him in the dark, uncertain and tender, pulling him close, … 

Hanson, the balding young cop, was repeating his question. He couldn’t well say what he was thinking: that she was as beautiful as he remembered her. She looked different, still the same type of dark pants, pale blue shirt, but she carried herself with self-assured authority and a gravity reflecting what had just transpired. Her hair was different, the lower strands reaching well below her shoulders, her natural waves tamed and straightened. 

It reminded him of another life, when she’d been teasing him about saving her from a terrible date, but he’d been too distracted from the flash of attraction that had shot through him then as it did now. The effect she had on him had not simmered down. Not in the slightest. The way she made it hard for him to find the right words and hoping she could read him like an open book, the way she knew him like no other. But what overpowered him was the overwhelming sense of loss he’d felt when she’d left and his inability to tell her what he’d wanted to say. 

She was asking him questions that he was answering on auto-pilot. When she’d said his daughter’s name, it had pushed his mind out of the daze it was in. Kelly, she was probably looking for him and he started looking around in alarm. She kept talking to him, but his eyes were focused on her hands. The way she was nervously holding them. And he couldn’t help but reach out, brush over them gently with his large, warm hands, before finally meeting her eyes and holding her probing gaze. Letting her see how seeing her affected him. He hoped, quietly and ashamed, that she could still read him. 

The vibration of his phone interrupting the moment and when he picked it from his pocket, he saw Kelly’s name. He needed to tell his daughter that he was fine. She’d sensed his worry, the way she always had and given him her silent understanding. He’d turned, already pressed the green button when he heard her call after him. Did she have any idea of the regret he felt, seeing her here? Regretted having caused the pain that she’d been quick to hide behind a stoic, neutral face?

Kelly had found him quickly, frantic as she was. She’d taken him home, made him a quick meal while he was in the shower. He’d tossed his shirt in the garbage. They’d watched the news while they were eating their sandwiches. Something entirely too healthy, sprouts and avocado. He felt Kelly raise her eyebrows when Lise was on, holding the press conference. Competent, assuring, in control. A trained detective might have seen how her eyes had drifted for a moment, maybe even noticed a slight pallor draining the blood from her previously rosy cheeks. Kelly remained silent, but her hand founds his arm and he drew her into his side. They’d drifted off, both exhausted from the ordeal. 

He woke towards early evening, groggy as the memories of his dream were slipping from his grasp. He heard the shower running, Kelly must have woken up not too long ago. 

He’d stopped dreaming of standing alone on empty frozen lakes, running and screaming, pounding helplessly against a car window. What haunted his dreams now was the warmth of golden hair, spread out below him on white hotel sheets, and the jarring reality of waking alone and cold. The way he had woken, just now, cold sweat covering his skin. And he dreamt, over and over, how he’d found her, settling in next to her, flicking away the burning cigarette, like a dying star in a dark night sky. And he dreamt of drawing her into a hug, whispering ‘Come back to bed, Lise’ into her hair and he felt a warm pit ignite inside his chest.

And it was then that, in his dreams, he felt like he was chocking on the words he did not say. Not then, or any of the days following. Not on the drive up, where he’d said nothing, lost in his own thoughts. They had left early, having gotten little sleep and the tension settled, both processing what had happened the previous night and the case disrupting their thoughts and private musings. After a while, Lise had broken the silence and had started summarizing the case and what they knew, getting into Scott’s head and he had easily picked up her thoughts and bounced back his own. They were good at that. The unspoken - agreeing to let rest whatever had transpired between them until after.

And as they were driving out, his pinkie brushing hers, the words on the tip of his tongue. But they would not come. They would not even come under deadly fire, under threat of losing her forever. And not even after, when the words should have rushed from his lips: he didn’t want her to leave because he needed her. Because she’d become the most important person in his life.

And when he said goodbye, he thought he had all the time in the world. That he would see her again and that in time, he would tell her how much he loved her. But in the harsh light of day, her looking beautiful and youthful as ever, he felt old and guilty and he did not want to be the one to hold her back. And he chocked on the words and he woke, feeling strangled and as if the wind had been knocked out of him. 

Instead of going after her, instead of being brave, he did what he did best. He was consumed by another case, another homicide and let himself be distracted by someone else’s devastation. She’d called, once, but he’d been in the middle of it, he’d been in too deep to let it go long enough to really listen and she’d read his mind, and let him off the hook. 

When he’d wrapped the case up, he had driven down to see her. He’d been standing in the light spring rain outside the precinct, gathering his strength, sorting his words when she’d walked out, a handsome gentleman behind her. She’d looked sick. Nauseous, pale and dark circles under her eyes and he’d known then, without a doubt, that he had been the cause of it. She deserved better, deserved the attention the younger man was paying her, clearly. And the guilt engulfed him – she was better off without him. He would always chase the dark and smother her flame. And he’d done nothing to stop her from walking out of his life and he could not forgive himself for the pain he had caused her and his dreams had haunted him. 

They ate dinner in silence. John told his daughter that Lise had asked him to come in the next day and that he might need to stay for a few days. He’d offered to get out of her hair, get a hotel room, but she wouldn’t have any of it. His girl had grown into a woman and he watched her, from his place at the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. She was wrestling with the pullout mattress from the sofa, putting linen and sheets on, making up his bed. He’d gone up to her, taking she sheets from her hands, making an attempt at helping her. 

“You OK, Dad?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

“I’ll let you get some rest.” 

“Thanks, Kelly … for everything.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Kelly had retired to her own bedroom and he’d settled into his makeshift bed. He was sleeping restlessly, but this time, it was no nightmare that was haunting him. Images of her were alive in his dreams. The way she had been standing in the darkness of her hotel room, setting her coat on the chair, her back to him. The way she had turned, looking into his eyes – deep within them, the pain and uncertainty of the future laid, but on the surface, plain for him to see, her eyes dark with desire and a softness he’d only rarely seen. 

His breath caught in his throat, his words strained as he croaked her name “Lise”. She had not hesitated, taking the three steps towards him as she’d whispered his name. “John…” It had sounded like a promise, an invitation, perhaps a question if he was sure. Her small, delicate hand had reached for his and he’d let go of the breath he had been holding when she touched him. Her hands gliding up in silent wonder, running over his chest and slipping his coat off of his shoulders, placing it neatly on the chair beside him, along with the scarf he’d been wearing. 

Her eyes travelling up, her hands following their path slowly, along the side of the buttons of his shirt, brushing over his shoulders just below his lapel. She was smiling, a silent, quiet, delicate smile in her eyes and just a soft tug around her lips and he felt a warmth spread through his abdomen as he reached for her cheek, brushing a stray strand of hair aside. And he stepped into her space, her smell strong and inviting as he bent down and touched his lips to hers, carefully. 

His hands gently cupping her head, his fingers untangling the hair tie that was holding her bun in place. He watched her hair spill around her face, his fingers curling around the strands and falling to her delicate, white neck and over the neck of her turtleneck, feeling the vein pulsating under his fingers before he let his arms wrap around her. 

And from there, the warmth in his abdomen had been stoked to a heady fire, flames licking hotly through him from the moment she’d drawn him down to her again, pulling his head down, crashing her lips against him again. Her body arching into him and he felt the eager press of her breasts against his chest and her pelvis was pressing into his groin. Her arms had snaked between his and his torso, drawing him closer and he felt her touch, her embrace, solid and sure against him. 

And she’d ignited that fire, that was spreading through him like wildfire. His lips had opened, capturing hers, strong and insistent as his tongue parted her lips and she sighed into him, grinding her pelvis against him in response. His mouth plundering hers as his warm large hands settled on her hips, trying to steady her impatient movements, pulling her turtleneck from her pants. When his hand slipped underneath, his fingers brushing against the soft hairs at her back, she mewled into him and he felt her muscles strain against him underneath his fingers. 

His hands traveled upwards, flat over her sides and back and her shirt travelling with them. He stilled when he reached her bra, but after a moment’s hesitation, his fingers curled around the edge of her shirt, tugging on it and slipping it over her head, breaking their kiss revealing the delicate gold chain of her necklace. She was panting harder than he was and his hands ghosted over her heaving chest, his thumb tracing her sternum down to the edge of her bra. 

He was looking at her, reverently, and she was looking back at him, through half lidded eyes. He was asking, without as much as a word, stilling just long enough “Are you sure?” and she’d nodded, almost imperceptibly, before closing her eyes as he cupped her breast briefly before slipping her bra straps over her shoulder and making swift work of the clasp as he pressed his lips to hers again. 

And from then on, it was a blur of her hands working off his tie and his buttons, tugging on his shirt and pulling his white undershirt over his head impatiently. His hands had drifted over her back, sending shivers over her arms, down to her bottom, holding her tight as he, almost embarrassed, pressed his growing bulge against her with a gasp in her ear. Her hands stilled over his scarred skin, her head resting briefly against his chest, before resuming their trek to his belt. 

She held her breath for a moment, looking back up at him for reassurance, before meeting again for a soft, tender kiss. She took him by the hand, leading him to the bed and sitting down on the edge, brushing her hands over the erection underneath his zipper and with a quick movement, opened belt and zipper and his pants dropped to the floor, as she licked her lips at the sight of him in his underwear. She leaned back, reaching for her own belt buckle, but he stepped forward, between her legs, his fingers teasing hers away, sliding the zipper down and reaching his warm hands between her pants and her lace covered skin. 

Reaching inside, covering her buttocks as they worked in the tandem as he was helping her off the bed and she pushed her pants over her hips and down her legs, his hands following her, drawing a searing line along her thigh. His hands stilled when they reached the rough skin of the scar on her leg, his eyes squinting in sudden, painful realization as his fingers traced the edges of the scar the bullet wound had left behind. He pulled off her shoes and socks, pulling her pants all the way down and bending down to kiss her again, before kneeling between her legs, leaning his head against her thighs, his arms wrapping around her hips, holding her close as his lips ghosted over the scarred tissue. 

He woke, with her smell in his nostrils and her taste in his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback smut :-D Sorry for being a total tease, but it's nearly midnight and I kinda wanted to let you have a lovely, smutty Saturday night. So yes, John has been having angsty dreams ... but the first time he sees her again, he's busy remembering how bloody hot their first time was.  
> Yes, I have a feeling we'll get to see the rest of that scene at some point ... from Lise's perspective. But we've seen John's scars and I have been wanting to smut up John seeing Lise's scar for the first time, because let's face it ... John is aware of his, but he's never thought about HERS until that moment and it nearly made him cry. Also, the scars were in the tags y'all.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this got a bit longer than I thought it would ... but I didn't want to break it up in the middle and post in two parts. And it's a lot of progressing the case that brings them back together, so perhaps a bit of a filler chapter. With a little tease :-p

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story, my gym is in an old bank building and the changing rooms and spa is in the old vault downstairs and it's still got the original heavy vault doors. So the situation here is a bit modeled on what my gym looks like and how it's situated.  
> Not so funny reality - gyms are closed here again with COVID hitting the fan again over here in Europe. Don't worry - I'm staying perfectly safe, but it's hard overhearing morons talking about what's going on ... if everyone is thinking - and worse yet - acting that way? Things are going to get a lot worse, not better. WHY are people so bloody dumb???

He was early. He’d woken up at 5 and found himself unable to go back to sleep. Not with the dream he’d had and the reality so much closer than she’d been in a long time. He made himself a cup of coffee, idly wondering if she was seeing someone, banishing the thought before it had fully formed. He didn’t deserve her and she was better off without him – besides, it wasn’t like she’d gone to great lengths to prove him wrong.

She hadn’t said what time and he found himself pacing outside the Toronto Police Services before 8am. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been here before. He knew his way around, knew where he’d find her _. Them_. Taking the elevator up to the third floor, he stepped into the unknown. It might as well have been a beehive. Phones were ringing off the hook and uniformed officers as well as plainclothes detectives were swarming.

He wasn’t sure where they’d want him, where he was supposed to report to and he found himself meandering, drawn to the main conference room in the center of the bullpen. They called it “The Aquarium” for its glass walls. It looked like they were in the middle of their morning briefing.

He watched them, well – _her_ , mostly – from the doorway, figuring he’d wait until they’d wrapped up. He couldn’t help but realize that he’d missed this – seeing her at work, firing on all cylinders. The way her cheeks flushed when she got all fiery … like when … He stopped himself. She’d started putting together a timeline on a whiteboard and a map of the city with the three banks that had been hit marked with a red X.

She interrupted his musing. “John, do you want to get in here?” She’d asked from across the room and he’d stepped inside the war zone without hesitation. “Guys, this is John Cardinal, my … former partner. He was at the bank yesterday; he may be able to add valuable details, draw connections we haven’t been able to make.”

She was running her team through the various threads they had uncovered and John listened attentively to the French accent that intensified whenever she got agitated and it seemed like her temperament still sometimes ran away from her. The suspects were still at large. This had been the third hit within a month, with the body count rising every time and the scenes getting more and more gruesome.

She ran them through what they knew. They had probably entered the bank through the front doors, separately, just prior to 11. John remembered the time stamp from Kelly’s message read 10:52. No one recalled them prior to putting on their ski masks and opening fire. 6 people were dead, with three more in critical condition. They’d threatened the tellers, making them hand over the cash reserves and forcing them to produce more from the vaults below. Once they had handed over the cash, they had once again opened fire and one of them had shot one of the tellers point blank.

They’d disappeared through an emergency exit that led to the side of the building. They’d pushed the bar of the door open and it that had sent the alarms screeching and brought the police on the site of the crime. No one had dared send out an alarm before then, terrified for their lives. They door led to an open courtyard where mostly just employees were parked and an assortment of garbage cans from the restaurant across and a small passage that led to a side street. They must have shed their masks before disappearing through the passage and getting to their getaway vehicle in the side street.

Uniformed officers had canvassed the entire block. No one had noticed anything. After shooting up a bank and killing the bank teller cold blooded with a headshot, they had walked out calmly, getting into an unknown car without drawing attention to themselves, despite the alarms blaring all around and police cars with sirens driving up. They had cordoned off the entire area, had stopped any car that was vaguely suspicious or had several passengers and the search had not turned up anything. Again.

He realized that she’d been watching him as she’d recounted the previous days events. She’d been looking straight at him, watching for a sign, a flicker of something he recognized. She’d noticed the way he’d frowned at the car in the side street. He watched her and realized that she probably hadn’t gone home. She looked tired and while she’d put on a fresh shirt, he could tell she was still wearing the same pants.

She’d asked her officers to fill in blanks, add their own observations and he realized how well the team worked under her. How she managed to bring into a collective consciousness that each of them knew or thought. The previous day had been busy with the manhunt. Today, it was time for digging – she was assigning the tasks, who would run down the connections between the banks, talking to the bank managers, who would run down background on the victims and any connections they might have had, who would continue canvassing the neighborhood, trying to find people who remembered anything out of the ordinary the previous day.

He’d always known she’d have a bright career ahead of her. She had the right mix, the patience for people, the spine for the office politics and she certainly had the finesse to lead this team. He felt a sense of pride, acknowledging that he had nothing to do with it – she’d had it all the first time she’d crossed his path. The understated beauty and the unmistakable brains.

With tasks divvied up and the day’s work ahead, the team scattered to the four winds. Leaving only the two of them, suddenly at a loss for words. She wouldn’t have shown fatigue or frustration in front of her detectives, but with them gone, she deflated, ever so slightly. “I need to … uhm … give an update to the Chief and the Mayor in a bit. They’re … not going to be happy.”

“Yeah, sorry … I didn’t know where you’d want me.”

‘Poor choice of words’ he realized, when she scurried to hide her reaction.

“Sorry… it’s been a long night. We can use all the help we can get…” she replied, afraid to ask. But his presence was both unnerving and exhilarating, but also made her feel strangely calm.

‘I’d be happy to ask Dyson to let me stick around…”

“That … that would be great.” She said releasing a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“And I’ll see what we can come up with the sketch artist?” And she nodded in agreement. “I didn‘t see much. But maybe it‘ll be enough to get some tips back on the tip line?“

“Sorry you got dragged into this.”

“It’s … fine.” He finished lamely. He couldn’t well say what he was thinking: that it was worth it, just to see her, having made a name for herself here. What he would have held her back from if …

She was already halfway out the door on her way to her office, when she paused at the door, interrupting his stray though. “John? Thank you.”

*****

Lise had barely slept since this case had blown up in her face. First it had been the case and the long hours. But since John had arrived on the scene of the third bank … her night had been more restless than they had already been before. He had brought back an onslaught of memories that had left her tossing and turning and had left her with unsatiated burning need for him and she hated herself for it.

She’d buried herself in work, out of necessity, too. But it was the only thing that kept the memories at bay. They’d spent the day chasing up leads and she’d followed up with everyone, compiling the first report until late into the night. It was well past 2am when she realized she was hungry and grabbed a bar from the vending machine and settled on the couch in her office. She’d spent more nights here than she’d care to admit. Always kept more than one spare set of clothing, too.

The moment she’d tried to relax, there he was in her worn thoughts, all boyish charm and spiky hair. That’s how she loved to remember him – one of those soft smiles on his lips. One of those endless stakeouts at night and how in one of those rare moments where he was making soft jokes to keep them awake. It was such a rare side to him, silly and carefree and she loved it all the more for the privilege of it being directed at her. He was so sombre and serious much of the time and to know that he was letting his guard down with her felt unnervingly intimate.

And just thinking the word intimate was dangerous territory and she was beyond tired or she might have better control over her thoughts. But there it was. Intimate. And the feeling of his rough, calloused hands on her thighs and the soft kiss he’d pressed to her scar invaded her thoughts. The way her hands had found their way to his unruly spiky hair and how she finally got to run her hands through them and the way she’d nearly cried out when he’d instead pressed his mouth to her lace covered clit, ghosting a teasing kiss, with his eyes seeking out hers. The intensity of his gaze still made her flush and wet, groaning inwardly at the memory of how he’d buried his face between her thighs.

_Merde!_ Not in the office! But damn, she was too wired and it would help her relax. _Putain_ , the man still did things to her. Showing up out of the middle of nowhere and here she was, needing to get herself off. One night with John Cardinal and she’d sworn off all other men. He was so fucking attuned to her body, her mind, her everything… he’d brought her to the brink of orgasm with a few flicks of his tongue and a few well placed, teasing strokes.

She’d actually had to practically tear him away, pulling him upwards. “John, _please_.” He dragged his body over hers, covering her and settling heavily over her. His weight pressing down on her nearly overwhelmed her, his familiar smell all over her now, his entire body pressing against hers and she needed to feel him completely, from his long limbs, over the distinct heat and hardness of his groin as she felt herself buck into him, followed by arching her own chest into his, his heavy, panting breath against her collarbone, the scratch of his beard against her neck.

He’d stopped, maybe hesitating briefly, tucking her hair behind her ears and she stared back into his warm, soft eyes. She was wide eyed, like a deer caught in a headlight. “ _S’il te plaît_.” she whimpered and he breathed out softly, before threading his fingers through hers, ever so carefully pushing her hands into the mattress as he pushed his hard erection between her legs. She whined in frustration, spreading her legs for him as her body practically lifted off the mattress, pushing back against him.

She unthreaded her fingers from his and he didn’t seem to want to lose the contact, but she scrambled, pawing at his ass, trying to get his boxer briefs off without losing contact with him. And she moaned heavily when she finally succeeded, something that sounded a lot like “ _Oh mon dieu_ ” and screwing her eyes closed when she felt his hard dick jut against her.

He was still against her. “Lise.” He breathed. “Look at me, honey.” And her hazy eyes met his, clear and tender as his large palm stroked her cheek, touching a thumb where she was biting her lips, trying to keep herself from moaning loudly, one long look into her eyes before his lips descended on hers, kissing her deeply and pushing his long hard dick inside her wet heat.

And she came … alone on that sad, cold leather office couch, just the memory of the way he’d looked at her that night, leaving her breathless and panting. _Merde_. She really needed to get a grip. But this time, she fell into a short, dreamless sleep, woken only hours later by the ringing of the phone on her desk.

*****

By the time she’d run through her numerous briefings, getting updates from her officers in between, it was past lunchtime. She’d seen him – or perhaps more accurately – _sensed_ him around the office and somehow, even when she was just passing through on her way to a briefing or to grab a coffee from the breakroom, she knew instantly where he was and she watched him with curiosity whenever she had a moment.

He’d cleaned up, showered, trimmed his beard, too. He was looking refreshed – but more worn and weathered than she remembered him, darker around his eyes, somehow. He still looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His tall frame looking frailer, less sturdy – he’d lost weight, looking sinewy and hardened, looking almost small underneath that coat. She wondered how he’d been – maybe it was just the time that had passed?

John had spent quite a while with the sketch artist and they’d put together a profile of the three men with descriptions to accompany the sketches. Somewhere in between, one of her guys had dropped by, getting her approval to have them circulated. They would run it with the lunchtime media briefing.

John had been catching up and running through the case with Hanson. He was a sweet kid but really had more the makings of a personal assistant than a future detective. He’d get her a coffee, water … at lunch he made sure he brought back a sandwich for her when he and John stepped out. John suspected he had a bit of a crush on her – couldn’t blame the kid, but she was way out of his league. He just wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the kid or himself.

As they were standing outside, munching quietly on their sandwiches, Hanson worked up the nerve to ask him about her.

“You must know her well.”

“Hmm. What makes you say that?”

“She trusts you. Haven’t seen her let a lot of people in that way.”

“We were partners. You … get to know someone, I guess.”

Hanson didn’t quite buy it, but didn’t press.

“How… has she been?” John asked, hesitantly.

“You know how she gets?”

John gave him a quizzical look, fixing the young man with a stare.

“She … hasn’t been sleeping much. Not eating well.”

“She hasn’t been going home?”

“Rarely. But she’s been that way, you know? Since she got here. Buried herself in work.”

“Hmm.”

When they returned from their short lunchbreak and went to grab a coffee, they found her in the breakroom getting a coffee herself after just having finished her media briefing. Hanson handed her the sandwich he’d picked up earlier and his eyes lit up at her thank you.

“Autopsies are almost done. Do you want to come?” She asked John, her French accent getting heavier in the second half of her sentence, trying not to sound too hopeful. She missed having someone like John around and the thought of being able to bounce ideas off of him, sharing the details of the case with someone who matched her intellect and ability to deep dive into a case … she needed that, with the brutality of this case and the leads not turning up anything. But her racing heart told the other half of that story – she missed her partner, but she also missed _John_ and she flushed as she remembered chanting his name when she’d come.

“Yeah.” He replied, with the same, slightest hopeful tone, sharing her sentiment. He’d missed her much the same.

“Probably won’t turn up much.”

“Hmm. How about I drive, so you can eat on the way?”

Her eyes sought out his, looking if there was any meaning behind his words, finding quiet, warm concern. She grabbed her keys and coat from her office and he was waiting for her at the elevator. As they were riding down, silently, she handed him her car keys … and a current of electricity passed between them.

In the car, John asked her about the two other robberies. The victimology, the level of violence and they started passing thoughts back and forth, like no time had passed and nothing had happened between them and she filled him in on what they knew. John was concentrating on traffic, but their easy case conversation put a smile on his face, as he glanced sideways at his _partner_. The thought stirred something, deep within him. She smiled back, out of the corner of her eyes.

“Is there something you remember about the car?”

“What do you mean?”

“The getaway car. It seemed like … you remembered something back there.”

“I was just thinking… I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t _hear_ a car start.”

“It’s strange that we don’t have any reports of a car speeding away.”

“Do you think maybe they didn’t get away in a car?”

“Or maybe it was an electric. Maybe I didn’t hear anything over the ringing in my ears … but I remember it being eerily quiet after they shot the teller and got out.”

“Hmm. We’ll need to add that to the timeline when we get back. Maybe we’re not looking for a car. Or an electric.”

Len was finishing up the autopsy of the fifth victim when they arrived and the joined him mid-autopsy. He’d already sent the bullets he had already retrieved from the other victims to the lab.

“Nice to see you two back together. What gives?”

They were at a loss for words for a moment, until they started speaking at the same time. “John, he uhm … he was at the bank.” “I was … in the city.”

Len sensed the awkwardness between them and didn’t press on. “Well… good thing with this case, I guess. There’s not much out of the ordinary I can report, I’m afraid.” He talked them through the results of the previous autopsies and the bullet wounds. All the victims had been shot to the head.

“They weren’t just shooting into the crowd. They were picking off people, one by one.” Lise realized, horrified.

“They’re bringing down another victim. One of the guys didn’t make it. The only one that was shot to the chest.” Len interrupted her musings.

“Jeez.” John sighed.

“What?” Lise responded immediately to his pained expression.

“I think that’s the guy I … was trying to save.”

“I’m sorry, John.”

“He was in line. Just ahead of me.”

“ _Tabarnak_!” He didn’t need to say what was on his mind. _That could have been him._

The waited on as Len finished the autopsy on the sixth victim – the seventh would have to wait for tomorrow. Meanwhile, they quickly stopped by the lab, checking to see if they’d had time to match the bullets. Lise had to step out a couple of times to take calls. They were just comparing them under the microscope. They were a match to the previous two robberies.

It was just before four when they were leaving the morgue.

“I need to go back to the office. Give upstairs and update on the progress. Quick media briefing. Do you want me to drop you off at Kelly’s?”

“Hmm. No … my car’s back at the precinct.”

“Ok.”

John broke the silence, hesitantly. “Have you eaten today? Other than that sandwich?” His voice trying for light, but his concern showed through regardless.

“It’s fine. I’ll grab something later.”

“Lise …” He started and stopped. They had been caught up in the case and in sync without realizing, but the awkward tension between them had returned with full force when they were walking to her car. He inhaled and when he released the breath he’d been holding … “Look, why don’t I take you to dinner tonight. You can’t pull another all nighter. And we can … catch up.”

She felt her chest tighten in response, feeling a sudden onslaught of panic. “ _Bon._ ” She breathed.

“Pick you up at 7?”

She nodded nervously in response.

He felt like he’d just put his cards on the table. _All in._


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please secure any hot beverages and choking hazards out of reach before embarking on the next chapter.

John had to admit he was nervous. He had a hard time getting a read on where _things_ stood exactly and the middle of a gruesome case never seemed like the appropriate time and place to figure that out. But he’d gone back to Kelly’s to shower and … well, change into fresh clothes was a bit difficult. He’d only meant to stay for an extended weekend, planning to celebrate with Kelly and had brought very little with him in terms of clothing or toiletries. He’d picked up a few things on his way back to Kelly’s, but he’d have to go back for clothes in the next couple of days.

As he was making due with what he had, he started ruminating on just _how_ they had ended up here. Why was it that they worked seamlessly together – one mind, two bodies – when it came to solving crime … but things seemed impossibly difficult when it came to that _thing_ between them. Was he imagining the crackling in the air? Why hadn’t she tried to stay in touch? Had he misread her intentions so badly? But then … he hadn’t either, out of … fear? He had hoped she would reach out, she would let him know when it was good … why hadn’t she? And the doubts started creeping in.

He was on his way out when Kelly got home.

“Hey Dad. I thought we’d have dinner tonight.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what, dad?”

“I’m going out. To dinner.”

Kelly studied his face until it finally clicked. “You’re taking _Lise_ out?”

John gulped. “Kelly, please don’t …”

“Yeah, no. I’m done. You’re just going to mess it up again.” She replied, skulking away.

John stood in the dark hallway, shaken. Great. Even his daughter had given up on him. How was Lise supposed to forgive him?

*****

John was early – and arrived at her apartment door at the same time as she did.

“Sorry … things ran late. Can you give me 10 minutes to freshen up?”

“Yeah, sure.” She looked haggard. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. He should have just let her rest. She need to focus on the case. They both did.

She let them in and offered him a drink, which he politely declined. She disappeared in her bedroom and he heard the shower running while he was left standing there, unsure what to do with himself. He’d never been to her apartment in Toronto and he wandered and peeked around the corners. It was all Lise, sharp, clear, clean and modern – but also like it had not been truly lived in. The contrast had always worried him – him the rustic, woodsy type, her the refined, elegant, tasteful.

The kitchen was all white and birch veneer, her living room elegant greys and white. The couch did not have as much as a dip from sitting on it. The designer lamp in the corner covered everything in a warm, surreal light. Surreal was how John felt, too. He’d unwittingly stepped into her space and felt engulfed by all that was so _her_ and yet, he could not have explained how unprepared he was for _her_. 

She could not have been more than 10 minutes, emerging smelling fresh and clean. She’d put on a black dress that could pass as casual or as elegant, but he was not prepared for the sight. He’d only very rarely seen her in anything so unequivocally _feminine_. It’ was entirely subtle, a simple black dress, a line of bright pulsating red lipstick, just a hint of mascara, faint traces of perfume and the scent hat was decidedly all her.

“Ready?”

He gulped. Maybe he should have accepted that drink. When she pulled a pair of red high heels on before walking through the door, his jaw might as well have dropped. The self-doubts reared their ugly head instead of John realizing that she was trying to look nice. Following her to the elevator, he couldn’t help studying her and feeling old, underdressed and completely beneath her. What could she possibly want with an old fool like him. Walking out of her apartment building, he got the door for her and she gave him a soft smile, leaving him breathless.

The short drive was in relative, awkward silence and John was scrambling to think of things to say. They ordered drinks and John may have downed his a bit faster than he meant to. She seemed like a cool, collected goddess compared to the bumbling mess he represented and she made him feel entirely inadequate. His eyes fixed on the small gold chain around her neck and the memory of her body flush against his flooded him. He’d been painfully hard and could barely hold back … and he was still embarrassed that he hadn’t lasted very long.

He kept staring at her neck, not being able to meet her eyes, but her collarbone and milky white skin brought back the memory of crashing into her, shuddering as he came, burying his head against her neck, pressing a heated kiss against that very same collarbone. He tore his eyes away from her collarbone, eyes falling to her sleek fingers, nervously folding the napkin into her lap. The way those fingers had wrapped around his cock without hesitation and he had to stop her or it would have been over far too soon. The way those fingers had caressed the damp hair at the back of his head, holding him tight against her own trembling body.

This was really not going well.

“You’re doing great down here, Lise.” He mumbled, hesitantly looking up.

“Hmm. I don’t know about that.”

“You are. I knew you would.”

An awkward silence followed.

“It’s hard … without … someone to share things with. A _partner_.”

John was grateful for the interruption by the waiter who took their orders. Their stilted conversation continued. Lise inquired about Dyson and the team and about open investigations up North and John asked about how things were going here.

The ice between them started to melt immediately when John started talking about Kelly, about the house she was going to buy and her work and how proud he was of her – and Lise admitted that they’d met a few times since she moved to Toronto.

They’d moved on to dessert when John unthinkingly asked: “Ever miss the North?”

“I miss you, John.” That was her, wasn’t it. Straight up as ever. Frank to a fault.

She regretted it immediately. That was John – not knowing what to say and retreating like a turtle when she was too direct. This had been their dance for the longest time, playing around what they other could gauge and read, without every saying anything. When she finally had (“Want to come inside?”), he’d been stunned into nothing more than a “Yeah.” Everything else remained unsaid, as it always did with them.

“I shouldn’t keep you up too late.”

“Yeah.” She sounded defeated. Or maybe just tired.

They drove back in silence while John was thinking hard. She was tired and wanted to get home and he sensed her frustration with him when insisted on walking her to her door. In the elevator ride up, he was one again feeling the insistent pressure of needing to say something, _anything_ , or he would lose her again, this time forever.

He hesitated and she refused to meet his eyes, staring at her red heels. She’d hoped … the dress, the makeup. But John was all guilt and regret … he had not changed at all.

… she was breathing heavily, her eyes shining with tears threatening to fall. When he unexpectedly reached out with his hand, grasping her small one in his larger one.

“I’ve missed you, too.” He rasped.

“John …” she trailed off, exasperated and pleading to stop toying with her.

“Lise … I’m sorry … about … forgive me.” And his right hand cupped her cheek, raising her eyes to his. “Please forgive me.” His eyes pleading with her.

She played nervously with her keys, turned around without meeting his eyes, opened the door and stepped through. Leaving the door open for him. Again.

Her heart was beating into her throat. He exhaled as his mind went completely blank and he followed her, blindly, without as much as a second thought. She’d put her trench coat up on the hanger and the seconds ticking by felt like an eternity until she felt his breath against her neck. 

“You look amazing.”

His voice sent goosebumps down her spine and she turned to face him. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. She was standing taller than she usually was, her stilettos giving her an extra inch. Her eyes roamed his face, full of questions, and found a familiar softness around his features, eyes dark with the desire.

“John …” Her voice desperate, rising in pitch.

Another second ticked by as she stared in the depth of his eyes, challenging him to make a move. When he didn’t, she stepped into his space, grazing the stubble on his cheek with a slow, lazy hand, followed by her lips crashing onto his. The sound he made, opening his lips for her, all tongue and impatience, shot another wave of desire from deep within her loins.

He remembered this, too. The way her lithe frame was _possessed_ , the way she was all fire and passion and burning desire. He’d never thought of her as athletic, not until he felt her body press up against him, muscles taught and her body wound up like a spring, or maybe more appropriately like a feline, ready to pounce. And how he’d felt like he’d been hit by a truck, sluggish, at a loss what to do with all that fire.

His measured movements only seemed to spur her on. The way his large hands splayed around her side, then her ass and Jesus, those heels and the smooth feeling of her dress under his hands nearly did him in.

“Lise … “ He was panting and her brown eyes sought out his, worriedly looking for any sign of hesitation. His lips tugged into a hesitant, careful smile. “Slow down.” Eyes impossibly soft as he removed a strand of hair from her flushed face, tucking it behind her ear and running his thumb over her smeared lips. “I haven’t gotten any younger.” He smirked.

She visibly relaxed, a bashful smile around her lips as she bit her lips, sinking back from her tiptoes to her heels.

“I want you, John.” He’d never heard her voice drop so low, never heard her accent get quite so thick.

“You’re so beautiful.” But what he wanted to say was _“Why. Why me.”_

And he kissed her, slow and deliberate and he hoped that was enough, that she understood. She was pulling off this jacket and scarf, throwing it over the rack and was back up against him within seconds and he felt her _pounce_ just when his hands had settled against her ass again. And he gripped her, caught momentarily off guard by her sudden movement, trying to find his balance when he felt her hot core against his stomach, her legs clenched tightly around his waist. Her dress had ridden up her legs and he felt the warmth of her skin through the thin layer of pantyhose.

And took her cue and walked her to her bedroom. The one room he had not seen during his earlier visit. It was cast in darkness, the curtains drawn, only letting in minimal light from the outside. He felt her tight hold loosen as she slipped down the length of his body, rubbing herself against him as she slid down. She flipped on a warm rectangular light behind her bed and it gave her skin and her hair a golden glow.

She returned to his embrace, going straight for his face, standing on tiptoes and pulling him down towards her, her lips devouring his. Her lips getting swollen and red from his stubbly face, she did not care. Her hands dropped to his shirt – he’d been wearing the same clothes as before, but had dropped the tie. She’d been watching the little hollow at the base of his throat all night, dropping down and kissing him there, and then moving her lips towards his clavicle while her hands nimbly unbuttoned her rest of his shirt buttons.

She suddenly dropped down, eyes level with his belt and she worked the loop through the buckle in one smooth movement, pulling his pants down, his hard cock springing from his undergarments. Seeing her hovering before him, legs precariously balanced on her heels, made him jut out. She pumped him, God, with those fingers wrapped around his thick cock, before sucking the sensitive tip into her mouth, nose buried in his scent, moaning as she enveloped him with her hot warm mouth.

He groaned, pulling himself away from her, gently pushing her back by her shoulders, coaxing her back up. “Lise, honey, you gotta slow down.”

“Uhu.” Unconvincingly. She was kissing him again.

He kissed her back, slowly, languorously, swiveling her around so the back of her legs backed up against her mattress. He traced his fingers against the hem of her dress, teasing her skin underneath and lifted it up over hear head. He nearly came at the sight of her in nothing but a matching set of black lace bra and thong and her bright red heels. His turn to drop to his knees, that protested briefly. He pushed her back gently and she fell back against her bed, legs opening wide for him and his tongue eagerly darted against the tiny piece of fabric, his stubble rubbing at the sensitive skin of her thighs.

He hovered, breathing hot puffs of air against her as he removed her heels, sighing heavily into her, inhaling her scent as he did. Slipping a finger over and under hear thong, putting pressure on her clit until he felt her squirm, only to make her arch into his face as he purposefully rubbed the stubble around his lips against her. His large hands roamed her body, pressing down on her abdomen before tugging on her underwear and pulling them down. On their way back up, his hand hovered over the scar on her leg, tracing it softly with his thumb, stilling for a moment.

His knees had started to protest and he rose, standing at the edge of her bed, looming, taking in her beautiful prone form, his expression serious. He toed off his pants along with his boots the rest of the way, pulling off his socks. She pulled him by his hands, pulling him on top of her and he tried to not crush her under his weight, but she pulled him down, grabbing his ass as she ground herself into him from below.

He tried to slow down her fire, his hand brushing her unruly hair over her forehead, kissing her slowly, teasing her bra away from her taut breast. His hands roamed her body, palming her, gathering her against him.

“John, please…” She mewled.

His left hand found hers, lacing his fingers through hers, pushing her into the mattress. His other hand slipping between them, rubbing roughly against her clit, teasing her open with just the tip of his cock. She opened her hips wider, locking her legs behind his ass, drawing him in. He gasped when he felt her tight warmth engulf him and pushed into her and she screwed her eyes shut when he bottomed out.

He stilled for a moment until she opened her eyes again. And he tried to tell her with his eyes and his body as he made love to her, brows furrowed in concentration as he was trying to make himself last as long as he could, resting between strokes, breathing heavily until he felt her clench around him and he couldn’t hold back anymore, as he spilled himself into her.

He collapsed on her, careful to not put his full weight on her, sheen of sweat on his back. After his pants had subsided, he turned, landing on his back, pulling her with him. He was sprawled out on her bed, hot and naked, with her body draped across his, one leg thrown over his and he felt the wet heat pooling at the apex of her thighs, pressed against his leg. Her body tucked against his side, head resting on his arm and his shoulder, one arm slung over his belly. He kissed her, and fell asleep holding her close.

*****

He woke from deep sleep, bleary eyes, as he had felt something stir. She’d turned away from him, curling up into herself, the duvet drawn up around her. He ached to tuck his large body protectively around her, drawing her into his embrace, holding her close … but he sensed her discomfort and respected her need to withdraw, to sleep. And drifted off to sleep again.

It was overwhelming to have him there. To feel him so close and so real. She hated herself for letting this happen. Again. Tears threatened to fall as she turned away from him, curling into herself, hugging a pillow. She felt him stir briefly, but soon felt his breaths even out again.

She slept fitfully, waking early from a nightmare, remembering nothing but a protective hand around her abdomen. She was cold, despite the duvet tucked around her. She felt his heat and the rising panic at the back of her throat. Eventually, she fled to the safety of her car and only here, in the dark, in the cold, did she let herself cry for the first time in over five years. Finally, in fiery response, she dried her tears, pulled herself together and drove to work.

He woke and when he didn’t find her next to himself, he knew with dreadful certainty that _this_ time, she hadn’t left for a smoke. She’d left him a key on the kitchen counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DON'T KILL ME. Did you not see all the angst tags??? Did you ignore them, distracted by all the smutty McSmutty flashbacks? Well, these two can't keep their hands off of each other as far as I'm concerned ... it's just the TALKING part they're having trouble with. But they will figure it out. Possibly. 
> 
> You know what's to blame for this? Agnes Obel. Words are Dead. I'm dead. And I'm taking you all down with me.
> 
> Hey, on the bright side, I seem to be able to keep up my weekly updates even though I was flipping exhausted and so ready for the week to be done by Wednesday morning. So you know, excuse me while I'm in complete and utter denial about this being Sunday evening.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How about some light Friday angst to kick off your weekends?

John felt strange, alone in her home. Not uncomfortable – there was something about her space that made him feel _welcome_. But it was strange, _without her_ there. He’d used her bathroom and just the sheer intimacy of her toothbrush and deodorant on her sink made him feel like an intruder … no, that wasn’t right. Just like she should be there, _with him_.

And he imagined her, too easily. The way she would have woken up next to him. He knew she was not a morning person judging by how grumpy she’d always been in the mornings before her third coffee. He would have woken up long before her, the sun’s rays peeking through the curtains like they did now. He would have had ample time to study her face, the faint freckles, the pink of her lips, hear beautiful hair all mussed up. Would he have been able to tear himself away to make her breakfast – or would he have stayed and watched her until she started stirring?

He felt himself longing for her with a fierceness that took him by surprise. And he felt himself grow hard at the thought of pottering around her kitchen, trying to make a cup of coffee, when she would have suddenly appeared out of her bedroom, wearing a sleepy, sexy smile and his shirt covering her long milky legs and that beautiful hair framing her face. He abruptly stopped fantasizing. He had to get a grip. She _wasn’t_ here. 

And he started packing up his things, clothes all dropped on an armchair (neatly, would have been overstating it … but she’d picked up his clothes and left them, like she left him. Just lying there. And it stung.). He decided he’d need to swing by Kelly’s for a shower and a change of clothes – there was no way he was getting into her shower, surrounded by her shampoo and her shower gel and lord knows what else … that would get his attention. She’d walked out of her own apartment to avoid him … and he felt like a creep thinking about jerking off in her bathroom.

He walked out, deep in thought … confused, mostly, but also _sad_. She’d wanted him last night, she’d said as much, and it had made him hopeful that she hadn’t … said no to dinner in the first place. And he hadn’t dared to hope it would turn into anything more than that. And then she had wanted him last night, she’d said as much. His detective mind was trying to sort through the clues, to look at them like they were a case and he was trying to piece everything together. She’d looked nice. She hadn’t been angry. She had been hesitant, like she was feeling vulnerable. Careful, cautious about letting him in.

He couldn’t figure out what had happened. Not back _then_ – why hadn’t she tried to reach out again? She’d called once, wanting to talk to him. “I need to see you.” had been her exact words. He had not paid attention, there had been something in her voice. Something that should have alerted him, but didn’t as consumed by the case as he’d been.

And what had happened _now_? Had he done something wrong? Stepped over an invisible line? She had seemed to want … the same as he did. At least it had seemed like it. The way she had smiled softly at him – from the moment he asked her to dinner, to her in his arms. That _something_ shining in her eyes when she let her guard down. He had hoped it meant that she would be ready … to at least listen to him, give him a chance to explain. At least she had wanted him, physically, too … and he’d assumed it meant that she wanted … the rest, too.

She’d been so … impatient, passionate. She had overwhelmed him, like she always did. She was always way ahead of him and he was bumbling along, trying to come to terms with his feelings. For his wife. For her. He’d been scared and he was still scared. He’d been afraid of losing his best friend, his rock, the one who knew him and kept him together, … and he’d lost her, because he’d let her walk away. What was he afraid of now? That she wouldn’t forgive him? Or that she would … and then she would leave him when she realized how broken he was?

He hadn’t been able to tell her. He hadn’t known if she’d even … talk to him one minute … and the next she’d been taking his clothes off. And just the memory of her, turned away from him, curled into an embryonic position, pained and confused him. What had _changed_?

He’d turned the key around in his fingers, not knowing what to do with it. Should he return it to her? Drop it in her mailbox? He had finally pocketed the key and driven to Kelly’s, on autopilot, his mind sorting through every expression, every word, every crease of her brow. It didn’t add up. It was like … before what happened in Toronto. The way she had just plunged forward into the unknown and he had spluttered to read her intentions. If she really meant … and she had meant it, hadn’t she? Why had she left then?

He was still deeply lost in thought, unlocking Kelly’s apartment … where he was greeted by a far more mentally awake Kelly.

“Jeez, Dad. I would have been worried …”

“Hey … Kelly …”

“You could have let me know you weren't coming home.”

“Sorry.”

“So … you two talked it out?”

John was definitely jolted out of his reverie. “I uh … it’s complicated, Kelly.”

“It always is with you, isn’t it?”

“Kelly!”

“Did you _tell_ her how you feel?”

“She uh, we… I …”

“Jeez dad, stop toying with her.”

“Kelly, please. She’s hurt. I’m trying, OK.”

“Well, you need to try harder, or you wouldn’t be back here now, would you?”

“Kelly, … not now, please.”

“Well, are you going to be around tonight?”

“I uh… probably need to go back home and pick up a few things. I don’t know how long this _thing_ will last. _I don't know, OK._ ”

“Okay.” Monosyllabic answers from his daughter were never a good thing. She was mad. He’d prefer if Lise was mad. She’d never backed down from a fight before and he loved that about her. She’d never been shy about throwing his failings into his face. He could deal with that. But this? The silent hurt, withdrawing from and avoiding him? This he did not know how to broach.

He showered quickly, making it to the precinct just in time for the morning briefing. She must have gotten in very early, had compiled everything they had – which was not much and the trail running colder with every passing hour. They were nearing the 48hr mark without a solid lead.

They had received very limited responses to the sketches they had circulated – too generic. Not much more than skin color and a pair of hooded eyes. And ginger hair. Not much to go on.

She’d retreated to her office after sending out her detectives to follow up on what little they had. He stood, alone in the meeting room, unsure of what she wanted him to do. If she _needed_ him. And he was worried, about her. Her silence always worried him. The way she was freezing him out, it wasn’t like her. He was always the one that froze, like a cornered animal. Not her.

He hesitantly made his way to her office, heart heavy and filled with concern. He wanted her to be OK. Whatever had happened. Even if she changed her mind about him, about them. He needed to know she was OK. She didn’t hear him coming in, standing by the window staring down at the street below. She didn’t hear him come in, not that he was trying to be quiet, but she had not reacted to his presence by the door. He reached out for her, touching a gentle hand to her shoulder.

“Are you OK?” He murmured, barely more than a whisper.

She swallowed hard and she was wiping at her eye before turning around.

“Nothing I haven’t done before.”

“Lise … I’m sorry, whatever I did, I’m sorry …”

She touched a hand to her front, effectively hiding her face from him while still facing him.

“John, can you just … just stop apologizing, OK.” Her French accent hung heavily around her syllables.

“What I should have said … “

“John, please. Park it. I can’t do this right now.”

He felt hurt. He was trying and she shot him down and didn’t give him a chance to explain. It stung. “OK?”

“You can ... tell me later.” And his heart soared at her words. If she needed space to figure things out, he could do that.

“I.. uhm … should pick up some things from home.”

“Ok.”

“If you still want me on this. Dyson … approved. But I don’t have my gun. Or my badge. Or more than two day’s worth of clothes.” He paused … waiting for a response from her that never came. “Do you need me … on something today?”

She’d been thinking about him since she’d left him, sprawled out and gorgeous in her bed, hair mussed and his face with a peaceful smile plastered over it. He’d seemed so content. He’d been waiting for an answer and the silence stirred her out of her reverie. She’d been thinking about everything BUT how he could be helpful with the case since the moment he got there. She was distracted and it made her feel even more out of control.

“I … yeah, that’s ... fine, of course.”

“Can we … talk? When I get back?”

She’d nodded in reply. Hesitantly. But she’d agreed. She’d agreed to listen. And he had 8 hours in the car to figure out what he needed to say.

“I’ll check in before I head back down here, okay?”

“Yeah.” She smiled, softly.

“Call me if anything happens?”

She nodded. When he walked out, he felt her key jingling in his pocket. He’d forgotten to return it.

*****

The drive out of the city was quiet and peaceful, it was past rush hour and he was made it out of the city in record time. He was thinking – about the case. And about her. Whenever he wasn’t around her, the doubts started creaking in, how she could possibly want someone as messed up as him. But whenever he was in her orbit … she didn’t make him doubt anything and he got lost in the way she softly pushed him. Only this time, she’d softly pushed him … back? But not away.

The drive up was uneventful and thankfully short. His mind kept wandering. He stopped by the police station and checked in with Dyson briefly. “Glad you’re OK. Whatever you can do to be helpful. Give my best to Lise.” Then he’d driven out to his cabin and packed up his things. He stood by the lake for a moment breathing in the crisp air. He’d been in such pain when he’d built it and the sadness had lingered. After the case that broken something inside him. And seeing her when he’d driven down to talk to her. She deserved better than the broken man he was.

He’d taken six months and built the cabin. Relentless, the hard physical labor leaving him exhausted, body bruised and hands blistered. It had felt like a punishment he deserved. Or maybe he was exorcising his demons. It had been different when he returned, after. He was not the same. A piece of him missing, leaving him feeling disconnected. Dyson had been worried.

“If you need more time, John …”

“I don’t need _time_.”

“What then?”

Her. “I need to work.”

And he’d done his best. But he’d heard the rumors. _“He’s losing it.”_ He’d already lost her, what else was there to lose? Dyson had assigned him to the lighter stuff. Heck, she’d probably agreed to him helping in Toronto so she’d have him off her hands for a while. Maybe hoping it would make him snap out of whatever funk he was in.

He steered the car through the narrow forest road, soon back in civilization and easing into traffic. When he was on the highway South, he dialed her on his hands-free set.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I’m on my way back.”

“Okay.”

“Anything new?”

“Nothing.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?” It was the first time her answer didn’t sound weary, but hopeful.

“They must have scoped out the place. Or inside knowledge. They knew where that emergency exit led.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that too.”

“What about the earlier two robberies?”

“Same MO. Got out through an emergency exit. Leading out back.”

“Can’t be a coincidence. Do you think they scoped out the places?”

“Not sure that would have helped. Those exits had exit controllers and in at least two of the banks, they wouldn’t have seen where they led.”

“Okay. What then? Insiders? How would they have inside knowledge on three separate banks? Building plans? Security? Night guard?”

“Good thinking. I’ll have one of the guys run that down.”

“What about motive? The violence is disproportionate. What are your thoughts?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s about the money. Revenge?”

“Have any threats been made against the banks? Anyone holding a grudge?”

“Haven’t turned up anything serious. We’ve interviewed everyone from the tellers to the bank directors. Some disgruntled employees. People who didn’t get loans. Lost their homes. The usual.”

“They shot those people straight in the head. That takes extreme anger. _Blood rage._ That’s one kind of person.”

“Mhmm. And pulling off headshots like that?”

“Yeah. They wanted to _kill_ people. What are you thinking? Military background? Former police maybe? Disgruntled?”

“Makes sense.”

“What did the ballistics report say? Military grade weapons? Automatic? Where would they have gotten them? They’ve been banned for five years.”

“Semi-automatic. Ruger Mini-14.”

“Hmm. Weapon used in the Polytechnique Massacre. You think that’s significant?”

“I don’t know. Could be coincidence. There were men and women under the victims. It seemed random.”

“Hmm. I’ve been wondering about that. You know the guy … I’d been trying to stop the bleeding from his chest. He was the only one with a chest wound. All the others were shot in the head. Precision.”

“What about it?”

“He was _white_.”

“ _Sacrament!_ How did I miss that? There were a lot of ethnic victims.”

“Maybe he was collateral damage. Maybe extremists? _White supremacists_?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Wouldn’t they have claimed it? Let me go back and check on the earlier ones. Check the witness records again.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “You still OK to talk later?”

He heard her, breathing on the line, remaining silent.

“Look, I don’t want to … push things. I know you have a lot on your plate.” And after a brief pause. “I’m just … worried … about you.”

“John …” He could hear the tears brimming over the phone. He hadn’t meant to … he didn’t want to make her cry. Why had he ever thought he could make her _happy_?

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have …”

“ ** _I’m_** sorry, John.” She said forcefully. “I just can’t deal with _this_ right now.”

“Promise me you’ll get some rest tonight? Can you do that?”

“I promise.”

John wanted to say something. It was on the tip of his tongue. But she’d already hung up.


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Dear. I think I outangsted myself in the last chapter and the angst got to be a bit too much and I needed some soft John hugs instead. I very nearly wrote a fluff fic, but decided this needed to get happier. Stat. Which requires them to start talking about things.   
> Now I’m a bit ahead of where I wanted to be with Chapter 6 and I just couldn’t get it to work the way I wanted to and ugh, I feel really weird and frustrated about it and I’m just hoping you won’t hate it. And I hate weak Lise, but I also kind of love the idea that he’s the only one who gets to see that and he’s the one person where she lets her guard down. All she needs is to start trusting him again and that’s the beginning of them starting to heal. And this may now end up being shorter than the originally planned 10 chapters, I’ll just have to see how it wraps up in the next couple of chapters. And then … you know … on to the ridiculous Christmas fluff fest and a 24 Days of Cardinal rewatch marathon. 
> 
> Not sure I need to tag this with a warning – but if that’s not your cup of tea, this chapter contains mentions of emergency contraception.
> 
> Angst, here we go. Or in the words of McLeod. “Oh Jesus, here we go.” But a bit of fluffiness ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a little angst soundtrack to this ... I was mostly writing this to "My vampire heart" from Tom McRae. 
> 
> Darling I'm lost  
> Adrift in the dark  
> I'm clutching your words  
> To my vampire heart once more  
> So let in the light  
> Turn me to dust  
> If it don't end in Bloodshed dear  
> It's probably not love

Lise had been absorbed all morning. The commissioner, the chief, the mayor. Everyone wanted answers, wanted _results_. She kept checking in with her crew. Trying to put the pieces together. Her adrenaline was running on high and she felt the blood rushing through her veins. She could go all day and night like this. If only her mind would stop snapping out of being in focus. But whenever she had a moment to breathe, there _it_ was.

If only she weren‘t so goddamn _sore_. It wasn‘t painful and he‘d been a perfect gentleman, but he was … _big_ and it had been a while and she was still reeling from how perfectly he had filled her. And the beard burn wasn’t helping things. And along with the burning desire for him, both her frustration with his silence and her guilt for her own returned. She needed to tell him. He had a right to know. And she felt the worry creep in. They’d made the _same_ mistake again – she should have known better. What if …? She didn’t dare finish the thought. She’d have to stop by a pharmacy today. _Merde_.

When he’d called, it was way past lunchtime and she hadn’t had time to eat. Again. And she’d been close to running on empty when she’d just snuck to the roof for a smoke. She’d quit … but with _everything_ , she’d been having terrible cravings for nicotine. It was the only breaks she did take. And just like she fell back into that bad habit, she fell seamlessly back into her partnership with John. The way their thoughts ricochet off of each other, the way their minds worked perfectly in sync. She’d been on edge, feeling like she’d been losing it … but the moment she’d heard that tone in his voice, she _knew_ they’d get them. _Together._

When he’d hesitated, but asked anyway, she took a long drag off of her cigarette, holding it in until the nicotine started hitting her bloodstream and she felt the familiar buzz. Well. Maybe it wasn’t just the nicotine. And she felt the panic return. The ice that gripped her heart, like it had this morning, before she’d fled. _Putain_. Why did he still have that effect on her? God, she needed him. And not just because of the goddamn case.

She’d check the victim records. Background of bank employees, anyone with a military background. She started comparing the three cases – night guard, security company. They all used the same _security company._ She needed to run down employees, they would have background checks on them. Anyone with a connection. They asked for a warrant. There was no way she’d get that at that hour.

And she remembered John’s soft concern for her, urging her to get some rest. And she really needed to stop by a pharmacy. She’d barely eaten all day, just a cinnamon roll Hanson had picked up for her. This was good. This was _progress_. She’d look at the files first thing in the morning with a fresh set of eyes – and decided to head home. He was right. He always was. And she needed to take care of this. _Now_.

When she stepped into her home, she smelt his faint scent and it made her feel on edge, the thought that he’d been here this morning. He’d gotten up, those long legs that had dangled off the edge of her bed. Had he made coffee? Taken a shower? Rummaged through her things? She took the small box out of the pharmacy bag, turning it around in her fingers. She should just take it. Not miss any more time – the sooner, the better. Get it over with, but there was a part of her that hesitated and she set the box down on the counter. She hoped a shower would help her as she stepped under the warm spray. And under the warm water, the tears came and she cried again, from exhaustion – emotional and physical.

*****

John had returned to the city a little after 7. He’d called Kelly, letting her know he was back in town and he’d wanted to stop by the precinct to catch up on the case and that she shouldn’t wait up. He was hungry and before heading into the station, he’d picked up some Indian curries (her favorites). She probably hadn’t eaten either and she’d looked pale and thin as it was.

He found the bullpen nearly deserted. Some late shift officers were there, typing up their reports. But her office was dark. Maybe she’d taken his advice? He dug out his phone and called her number. No answer. When he put the phone back in his pocket, he felt it: the cool metal of a key. _Her_ key. She would be wondering where he’d left it. And he had far too much food for one. And he’d told Kelly he wouldn’t be home for dinner.

Without really thinking things through, he drove back to her place. He didn’t want to push her to talk, he could just give her the food and return the key and be gone if that’s what she wanted. He rang the doorbell and was nearly ready to turn around on his heels, when she finally opened. Hair wet from the shower, cheeks flushed, dressed in a big oversized hoody and sweatpants. And what looked like red rimmed eyes.

“Sorry … I didn’t want to disturb you. I was hoping to catch you at the precinct.” He said, apologetically.

He could tell she was pulling herself together, the way she stood up straighter.

“It’s fine. What is it?” Her French accent clung heavily to the staccato of her words, the way it always did she was trying to mask her emotions, coming out harsher than she intended, lacking a nuance she would have possessed in her native language.

“I … uh … wanted to return this. So you’re not wondering where it is.” He was hoping to mask his embarrassment, but she saw right through him. She always had.

He held out the key, balancing the takeout bags on his other arm. His eyes fixed on the key. She stared at it for a moment, then at him, before gingerly taking it from him.

“You got takeout.” It was a statement, not a question. He sensed a defensiveness around her short answers and knew it was _protectiveness_. His eyes roamed softly over her face, felt her hesitation under the forced neutral expression. She was protecting herself, from _him_.

“Yeah … uh … I didn’t know if you’d eaten. I can just … leave it and get out of your hair.” His voice was low, unsure. God, he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve another shot. She’d given him too many chances and he’d ruined them _all_.

He hesitated and her eyes swept over him, his warm grey eyes, careful, sorrowful, not expecting anything. _Open_.

“Have you? Eaten?” She asked, quietly, tentatively. Raising her eyes to him, just a fraction.

“No. I just got back… look, we don’t … have to.“ He’d promised to let her rest and he was trying to give her an out, to not put an inch of pressure on her. She didn’t owe him another chance. She didn’t owe him anything. If she didn’t want to talk, he needed to respect that. If she needed time … he’d promised himself that he would give her that.

She paused, again and after a long, deep breath “Ok.” She turned around. “Let me just … finish up in the bath quickly.” And she disappeared into her bathroom and when he heard her hair dryer, John set down the bags on the counter, took off his coat and after a moment’s hesitation, started searching for plates and put the containers into the oven to warm them up again.

Rummaging around for some tin foil, he saw the box lying on the counter. _Shit_ … was that? He picked it up, reading the label … just when she returned from the bathroom. They stared at each other from across the kitchen.

John gulped. “I’m sorry … I should have … it didn’t even occur to me …” It seemed to make sense now. He was beating himself up mentally for having been such an ignorant bastard and the self-hatred he felt for himself flashed across his features.

She was biting her lip and was struggling to find the words “John … don’t … I” She was feeling self-conscious and mortified.

“I’m sorry. I … I feel like such an ass.” He’d been married for such a long time and the only time … the only two times … after … it hadn’t even _occurred_ to him. Not for a second had it even flashed across his old, addled brain that she might need protection _from this_.

“It’s fine.” Her voice subdued.

“It’s not fine. I …” His words came out pressed between his lips, carrying the force of his self-loathing, he was about to beat himself up about it, but her small voice had stopped him short in his tracks.

And if that hadn’t done the trick, she cut him off, sharply and suddenly. “John, drop it.” Her answer had come out more forcefully than she’d intended and she was struggling to keep her emotions in check, but her glassy eyes gave her away and she stood there, helpless and _begging_ him to stop.

John, sensing her turmoil, closed the gap between them and just _held_ her and whispered “I’m sorry. I should have … asked.” into her hair.

“I was there too, you know.” She buried her nose in his sweater. “I didn’t think … either.”

“I wish you’d said something … after.” He felt her deflate in his arms and closed them tighter around her.

“I shouldn’t have left. It was just too much. I couldn’t … deal with it.” And she nearly spilled over, told him _everything_ , but with his arms wrapped solidly around her, the words didn’t come.

“It’s OK. Shhh. It’s OK.”

They were jolted out of their moment when the timer on the oven went off and Lise went to turn it off, wiping her eyes dry when she was turned away from him.

“I’m really hungry.” She said, sheepishly, taking the containers out of the oven. 

“Yeah, me too. Let’s eat?”

She nodded, placing the containers on the table and starting to fill their plates. She sat down and started digging in, ravenous and he watched her, quietly out from under his eyelids, before picking up his own silverware. They were both quiet, Lise wolfing down her food and not stopping until she’d cleaned her plate completely.

“Thank you. I was really hungry …”

“Good.” Smiling tentatively. “I should … let you get some rest.” He replied, softly, rising awkwardly from his sitting position and starting to gather the leftovers and the dishes.

“Do you want to … stay.” It almost didn’t sound like a question. It was almost of she’d only said “Stay.”

“Do you want me to?” His eyes searched hers, carefully, gently.

She bit her lip again, nodding as carefully, meeting his eyes cautiously. “Yeah.”

“Ok.” His lips tugged upwards into a slow, soft smile. “I … uhm … should let Kelly know. She was … kinda mad this morning.”

Lise laughed at that, hesitantly, but still. She laughed. “Yeah, I’ll just … uhm …” and gestured to the bathroom. 

He finished up the dishes and texted his daughter wanting to avoid having another discussion like they had in the morning. By the time he’d wrapped up, the light in the bathroom had gone out and he’d heard her feet pad over to her bedroom. It couldn’t have been more than five or ten minutes and he wasn’t sure if she was already asleep. It wasn’t that late, but she couldn’t have gotten a lot of sleep the night before. When he passed the counter, his eyes landed on the box again. It looked untouched. And he didn’t touch it either.

He stripped down to his boxers in the bathroom, trying to be quiet. He remembered having been here along that morning and he felt hope surge in his heart when he’d been entirely disheartened that same morning. If she gave him another chance, he wouldn’t mess it up. Not again.

He stopped at the entrance to her darkened bedroom, hoping that this is what she wanted and slipped into bed beside her, trying not to wake her and settled at what seemed like a good distance from her. He needn’t have worried about waking her. She inched back towards him, until her cool body bumped into his. He felt her hand reach around to him, pulling on his hand and drawing his arm around herself. With his large body curled around hers, an arm resting over her midsection, she finally drifted off, exhausted after the day’s events.

John watched over her as her breaths evened out. She was stronger than anyone he knew. And here she was, trusting him, open and vulnerable. And this time, it was him that didn’t find sleep easily. She had trusted him, before and he’d hurt her. He hurt her, even when he had no intention of it or even awareness of causing her worries. And his thoughts circled, not for the first time, around why she kept opening her heart to him. He was broken and she was so much younger than him and she deserved so much better.


	7. Sept / Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I said we were out of the angsty woods, I'd be flat out lying. But if you squint a little ... there's actually a lot of softness passing between them and a little bit of progress. In fact, if you read closely ... there's a break in the case and another dam about to break.  
> Happy Sunday - it was a gorgeous one over here.

She woke, feeling the solid warmth of _him_ against her. At some point during the night, he had sprawled out and she’d turned and draped herself over his side, nestled between his left arm and his body, her head tucked into his shoulder, an arm slung around his midsection, covered by his own and a leg and a cold foot stuck between his. And for a moment, while her mind was still half asleep and his even breathing calming, she felt more rested than she had in years. As her eyes adjusted to the twilight and she became aware of the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, her mind started turning again.

Why couldn’t he just say what he was thinking. _Feeling_? He showed her, in all the ways that mattered. He’d shown up last night, his body _protective. But she sensed his reticence beneath it all._ Why in the world was he holding back. Why couldn’t he speak for once. She was tired of guessing at what he was thinking. Not that she was guessing – she knew him and their ability to communicate without words had worked for them for a long time. But she kept waiting, waiting for him to get over his wife, waiting for him to make a move, but at the end of the day, it was always _her_ and it was tiring. She loved him for his soft spoken, gentle sensibility, the way he was able to read people, read her, understand her – but when it came to this, _them_ , she felt vulnerable and wished he would say what was on his mind. She was always the one pushing and never knowing if he just responded … or if he wanted this, as much as she did.

She felt him begin to stir, remaining still at his side, willing the moment to last. Knowing it wouldn’t.

“Hey.” He murmured softly. His hand drawing a lazy, idle circle along her biceps.

“ _Bonjour_.” And very subtly, her body burrowed into him, just a little, savoring the feeling of his skin against hers, the way he smelled, musky, where she buried her nose in his skin.

“Did you sleep _better_.” Neither moved from their position.

‘I slept like _a baby._ ‘ Was on the tip of her tongue, but she tensed momentarily at the word and then, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah.”

He felt the momentary tension and held his breath until he felt her smile blossom against his skin. They were quiet for a while, not awkward, but also not resting easy. To much on both of their minds.

“So… what’s on the agenda today?” Masking the awkwardness with what they were good at was always a good strategy.

“We checked the victim records yesterday and I think you might be right. We need background checks on the employees of the security company. See if anyone has any connections to white supremacists. We asked for a warrant to review the employment records, it should come through this morning. Maybe you could look at the records, something might jog your memory.”

“Yeah, sure. I might just need to… grab a shower. And grab some clothes from the car.”

“Sure … do you want some breakfast?” By now, she was starting to extricate herself from the warm nest in his arms.

“Coffee?”

They were still connected by the softest of touches, her soft fingers grazing along the side of his arm, lingering on his long fingers, her body starting to pull away from his. Just before she separated from him, his hand turned underneath hers, palm and those long fingers curling up into hers as hers slipped through his.

“ _Evidemment._ ”

He watched her disappear through the door, clad in nothing but a black tank top and a pair of black, lacy panties that had been soft to his touch and heard her rummaging in the kitchen soon after. He felt the loss of warmth keenly and with her gone, had no reason to stay in bed. He grabbed his clothes from the bathroom and went down to the car to grab his things. When he emerged from the shower, refreshed, he smelled coffee.

And it was as if with her clothes, pressed and sharp, she’d put up a sobering cold wall again. She was Detective Sergeant Delorme again, hardened, reserved and controlled, and gone was _Lise_ who smiled at him with her eyes, whose soft curves molded perfectly into his and whose eyes turned dark with desire. Delorme held out a cup of coffee, his fingers touching hers briefly and John longed to touch _Lise_ , feel connected to her for just one more moment. But he silently respected the line she’d drawn, but not without feeling momentarily hurt and confused.

He stood, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching her back. Her delicate pale neck with her hair pulled back into a stern bun again. He wanted to stand behind her, press himself against her as he dipped down, kissing her neck, rubbing his beard against the sensitive skin of it, making her break out in goosebumps. Making her feel how hard she made him, how beautiful she was to him as he ran his hands up from the flare of her hips, over her sensitive flanks and cupping her breasts, imagining her reacting and arching into his touch and pulling her hair free. But in the harsh light of day, it seemed beyond his wildest dreams.

Instead he silently ran a hand along her arm, fingers lingering on hers, desperate for connection. And she didn‘t pull away, her fingers entwining with his and he felt her take an unsteady breath. And in that moment, he felt her, he felt everything he needed to know. Felt how much she cared for him, felt how much she wanted him and felt how afraid she was of letting him in again. And he hoped his silent reassurance was enough.

She drove in in her own car and he watched her run through her morning briefing and her style and routine had started becoming familiar and he didn’t realize it, but he watched her with pride and admiration. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Delorme – Delorme had been his partner, his equal, his conscience, _his best friend_. But Lise? Lise _he loved_. But somehow, the knowledge that under that prim, austere attire, Lise wore beautiful feminine things ... the two began to merge in his mind, _Lise_ and Delorme, her strength and her softness and his heart was fuller than he had words for when they did.

She’d spent the morning in meetings, catching everyone up on the most recent developments. The warrant for the employment records came through and he sat down with Hanson, who had been eyeing their interactions with suspicion.

“Does she seem different to you?” The younger cop asked.

“What?” He’d been pouring over the records of the security guards, all the while keeping an eye on her through the glass windows of her office. She was on the phone, pacing like a caged tiger. No – this was who he knew. Strong, no nonsense, passionate and dedicated. He could see the wheels turning, her temper flare up every once in a while, only for her to control it immediately with grit and determination. She would not let this control her. And the glow of compassion and sincerity, that gentle warmth that pulled him towards her, the way how _comfortable_ he felt in her presence. The piece – or was it the peace – he’d been missing. But he sensed the other thing, too – the way she was holding back, the tension along her arms and neck. The way something was bubbling below the surface, something was troubling her.

“Yeah, like … I dunno … like she got a good night’s sleep.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess.” Like she’d gotten a good night’s sleep? _Right._ Maybe more like an irresponsible foolish freaking idiot might have knocked her up. Had she taken the morning after pill? Maybe he should have asked. But she’d felt too good in his arms, the cocoon of warmth he’d curled around. The way her chest had risen and fallen. The way he’d felt her belly expand and deflate with air with his arm hovering over it. When she’d turned over, he had studied her freckles and the way her nose buried into the cavity of his armpit and he’d felt every soft warm breath, felt when she smiled, her dimples breaking out in half moons against his skin.

That’s when his eyes fell on the photo in front of him and he did a double take. He studied the file carefully, mind suddenly turned to the information in front of him, scanning the lines and scrutinizing the picture.

“Can we get background on this guy?” He’d asked his younger colleague – who seemed to have frozen in his tracks. John was confused – until he looked behind himself. He’d been so concentrated on the file, he hadn’t noticed her coming over and hovering in the doorway to the conference room.

Like him, she’d been watching him out of the corner of her eyes and she knew the way his body tensed, the way his brow furrowed in concentration and the way his ears twitched. _He had something._ And she was off the phone and standing behind him before her consciousness had realized what had happened.

“What do you have?”

“I think this might be one of them.”

“How?” Hanson asked.

“I don’t know. The eyes. Just a feeling.” John replied.

“Should we bring him in?” Lise asked, seeking out his eyes, reading his facial expression, the tension around his brows, his ears. How sure was he?

“We don’t have anything on the guy.” Hanson interjected.

“Can you get me credit card statements and phone records? Criminal records if there’s anything?”

“Yeah. Hanson – can you run that down for us?”

Hanson looked irritated, but scurried off after Lise gave him a sharp look. Lise took his seat and reached for the file just as John moved to slide it her way. Their subtle movements, knowing each other like _this_ , electrifying them both. They were so good together _like this_. Lise started pouring over the file.

“He’s ex-military. Served in the Canadian Armed Forces in Afghanistan. 6 years.”

“Fits our profile.”

“Started working security shortly after.”

“We gotta get his military records.”

She made a quick call to Hanson and asked for the additional records. When he returned a little while later with the credit card statements and the phone records, he was taken aback by the intimate scene before him. Side by side, sitting far closer than he ever would have been comfortable with, their legs touching underneath the table, head buried in the file. But it was the way DS Delorme’s fingers dug into Cardinal’s thigh when she found a passage in the file and slid it over to him. It was like watching a perfectly orchestrated performance.

He cleared his throat, but he might as well have been invisible. They barely acknowledged his presence and for a fleeting moment, they reminded him of a pack of hounds that had picked up a scent. Gone was reason, it was all instinct from here on in. It bothered him, the way they seemed to communicate without words. The way he seemed to know what line she’d been looking at when she showed him the file just by the way her nose flared or her head turned, the way she seemed to respond to his unspoken agreement, settling back into her chair just a fraction. He felt like he was watching an entire dialogue in a silent movie.

“Got those phone records and credit card statements you asked for, Ma’am. Military records are being faxed through shortly.”

“Thanks Hanson.” She did not even turn his way.

“Motive?” He muttered under his breath.

“Hmm. Maybe something he’s seen in the fight against terrorism in Afghanistan?”

She bounced her thoughts off of him and the miniscule change in his expression told her what she already knew. They continued reading silently, their breathing slow and measured and in sync, looking at the pictures from time to time.

“Can we look at the surveillance cameras again?” He asked after a while.

“I’ll have them pull it up. Coffee?” She was already halfway out of her chair when he’d asked – as if she’d anticipated his next thought. And Hanson realized that she _had_. She’d known exactly what he was thinking, the way he’d been looking at those pictures, from the side.

“Yeah.” That too had been a rhetorical question, his answer more of a nod than an actual word used.

They stopped for coffee, Lise knowing they way he took his, made him a cup rather than letting him work the coffee machine. He’d destroyed one once, back _home_. In the darkened room, they huddled together, going over the footage of the robberies. Hanson interrupted them again, with the military records.

“He was injured in Afghanistan and sent home. Left the Forces.” They’d split up the file, twice the speed when each of them was only reading half.

“There’s a redacted psych eval.” As they scanned the pages, each would convey whatever important things they encountered.

“Lise? He was in Ottawa in 2014.”

“The parliament shooting?”

“Working security. He served with the guy who died after the ramming attack.”

“Guy is injured in the fight on terror in Afghanistan. Comes home only to find that terrorism has followed him home, killing a fellow officer.”

“You think he took matters into his own hands? Use the robberies as a decoy to pick off immigrants that felt like a threat to him?”

“It’s our guy, I can feel it. We gotta bring him in.”

Lise stood, picked up her phone and while calling in for a squad car, rushed to her office to grab her coat. John rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking after her. A few minutes later, he saw her standing in the hallway, waiting. “You coming or what?” She yelled in his direction.

She drove, with him beside her, both concentrated. Lights flashing and sirens blaring around them. They both remained silent in anticipation. When no one answered at his apartment building, the breached the door. _Nothing._ He was in the wind. And the tension broke. Hanson heard her swear like he’d never heard a French Canadian swear. She kicked the bathroom door in frustration. Hanson winced, John did not. _He’d seen her like this before._

She was stewing outside and was about to bum a cigarette when he found her, reaching out for her with a gentle touch to her shoulder. It was as if his presence had brought back a reminder of another time when he’d found her smoking and she put the cigarette in the bin. He’d reminded her of something else, too.

“We’re not going to get anywhere tonight. We’ve put a BOLO out. Nothing to do but wait.”

“ _Câlisse_. Goddammit, we’re so close!”

His fingers tightened around her shoulder. “There’s nothing we can do right now. Let me take you home.”

She let herself be guided to her car and handed over her keys. He could tell she was distracted when she barely acknowledged the order for Pizza he put in. Despite her silence, he felt her anger boiling all the way to her apartment. They made it just before the Pizza guy. John paid and was balancing the cardboard box. When they stood at her door, Lise looking for her key, suddenly stood to face him.

“What are we doing John? What is **_*this*?_** ” She said, gesturing between them. She was still angry and on edge and it had apparently made her frustrated with him, too. He’d been so enveloped in his concern for her wellbeing that he’d completely missed how something else had been simmering since that morning. A fuse had been lit and it had chosen that precise moment to go off.

“Lise …” John started, quietly, apologetically, appeasingly, but she cut him off.

“What’s going to happen when this is over?! Are you going to leave again?” Her French accent clung heavily to the words, her words sharp and pointed.

“I haven’t … had time to think about … that.” John started again, slowly, willing his mind to catch up with her, read her when her entire inner emotional world seemed to spill over into his. Anger. Frustration. Fear. Pain. Sadness. And something else.

“I can’t take it John. I can’t keep waiting for you. I can’t keep guessing what you want. I can’t go through this. Not again.”

John was momentarily frozen – he had not seen this coming and there was a discussion he was not prepared for. And dealing with her when she was angry had never been his forte. He’d thought they were on the same page. He’d thought she knew what was in his heart. He was pleading with her, grey eyes, careful and soft and a little bewildered. But he met hers, baring himself to her entirely and when he did, he felt her soften, just a little.

Lise’s phone rang and after staring into his blank expression, she picked it up. He saw the color drain from her face.

“There’s been another.”

“A bank robbery? At this hour?”

“ _Non_. Someone has taken hostages at Union Station. Same M.O.”

She stood, shaken, drawing in a long breath and releasing it. She turned on her heel and he’d sensed her movement and followed her, back to the elevator, from where they had just come. On the short ride down, he balanced the Pizza box, shifting it from his front to the side, reaching for her hand that had been fidgeting and squeezed it, reassuringly and held it all the way down as the energy flowed between their joined hands.


	8. Huit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things finally get talked about, the case takes a terrible turn and smut ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well - I kind of had this chapter almost done yesterday and probably won't have a lot of time on the weekend. I was considering saving it until then and posting it later, but then I remembered that it's Thanksgiving - at least for some of you. And I wish that in my parts of the world, they had taken over that particular holiday as opposed to the complete and utter madness that Black Friday has become in the last few years. And as someone who's done a lot of mindfulness, the practice of gratitude is something I never quite understood until I just started doing it. And it slowly changes your whole perspective, your whole outlook on life. And there's much to be grateful for - and this little corner of the universe is certainly one of them.  
> So ... this chapter is uncharacteristically fluffly and smutty and practically angst free (although that's how I felt about the last one, lol). Thank you for all your kinds words, comments and kudos - I'm grateful for everyone who keeps me company with my project. Because clearly, even though this story is soon coming to its end, I am far from over these two :-) So Happy Thanksgiving - whether it's celebrated where you are or not.

They drove to Union Station in tense silence. Lise was on edge, teeth gritted and taking three calls on the way, finishing each with a string of French expletives. A flurry of police cars were positioned around the Front Street entrance and John pulled up behind them, their lights flashing frantically and casting the building in a strange red glow. She’d unbuckled her seatbelt before he had even slowed down the car, one hand on the handle and ready to jump out and get in on the action when he grabbed her by her hand, warm and calm, an island of peace in the frantic storm outside.

“Lise.” He said, very softly, searching her eyes, asking for a moment of patience.

“What?” She asked impatiently, her jugular vein visible and the blood pounding against the thin wall.

“This could be dangerous.” And he held her hand, just a little bit tighter.

“It’s my job, John.” Her nostrils flared with barely contained irritation as she looked at him sharply.

“I meant … I need you to know, before you go in there.” That stopped her dead in her tracks and she settled back into the car’s seat, inhaling slowly. And somehow, it was as if his calm, slow, gentle pulse seeped through, calming her heartbeat.

“OK.” Her eyes spoke volumes, large and vulnerable. She’d never been afraid of her job, of putting herself in harm’s way to save others. But here was the one reason _not_ to run into a building on fire.

“Lise.” He urged, pulling gently on her hand, trying to get her to turn his way. “What I wanted to say … earlier … is that I wish I’d never let you walk out of my life.”

The look she gave him was heartbreaking, tears threatening to fall as she bit her lip, trying to hold them back.

“Then why did you?” She did not sound accusing, just heartbroken – and he responded with the immeasurable regret that he felt.

“I didn’t want to hold you back. I thought you’d be happier. Without me.”

“Well, I’m not. I never wanted that life.” She said sharply.

“I’ve been absolutely miserable without you. I was waiting … for you. I think … maybe I needed you to be sure.”

She gulped, hard, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “I needed _you_ to be sure.”

“ I just don’t understand what you’d want with an old fool like me. You could do so much better than me.” He lowered his eyes, embarrassed by his own confession.

She reached out, touching his cheek, brushing his stubbled jaw.

“You’re the first person to really see me. Understand me. Read me like an open book. You’re the _only_ one.” And he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch.

“I haven’t thought about what happens _after_ , because I didn’t want to think about going back to a life without you in it.” Taking her hand and touching it to his lips, kissing the back of her hand, before lowering their hands to his heart.

“OK.” She was battling with her composure. “I don’t want that, either.”

“You know me, better than anyone ever has. You have to know how I feel about you. I don’t have words for how much you mean to me. I _love_ you, but it feels like that doesn’t even come close to how important you are to me.”

She leaned into him now, leaning her forehead against his across the console.

“I love you, too.” Her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

John gently pressed his lips to hers, his hand framing her face.

“Be careful out there. Don’t worry about _this._ ” Touching his fingers to his heart. 

She nodded against him, before pressing her lips to his with finality and slipping out from the car, heading into the middle of the commotion, asking for updates on the situation. Her heart was beating strong and steady with the calm that had flowed from him to her. John followed behind, staying nearby, in her orbit, keeping an eye on her. A hostage negotiation team had been called in and she was conferring with the squad leader, standing by the main entrance to the Great Hall, catching them up on what their investigation had turned up and getting the rundown on the situation as it was developing. The emergency task force had assembled.

Three unidentified hostage takers had opened fire in the York Concourse hall and had then taken the ticket officers hostage, demanding money. But just as before, they had opened fire, seemingly at random, shooting at people who were ducking or running for cover. If their theory was right, holding hostages was a ruse and they were out to cause damage, not negotiate. And … they probably had an escape plan. They were scrambling to get control of the situation, but even with all available units having been called to the scene, the number of exits to cover was more than they were able to secure.

People were frantic and in panic and where they were able to run to security, were completely shaken from the experience. Ambulances started arriving and care teams standing by. The media were all over the place, setting up cameras and microphones. Helicopters circling above. Suddenly, there was a commotion and the lights went out and everything went black. People started screaming in panic. Lise was cursing like a sailor, shouting commands to get the exits secured. By the time they had managed to get the lights back on, the frenzy was uncontainable. And the perpetrators were in the wind.

By the time the scene was contained, it was well past midnight, the search still ongoing. John had gotten her some nuts from the vending machine and a bottle of water and she felt a headache coming on, rubbing at her temples. An inter-agency task force assembled. Homicide no longer in charge, RCMP claiming jurisdiction. It was now considered an act of terrorism. The manhunt and briefings went long into the night. Lise shared their theory and a warrant for arrest was issued. But nothing turned up. They had all but disappeared into thin air.

When things finally slowed down, she found John waiting in her office. He’d taken the moment of quiet to catch up with Kelly – who was entirely too pleased with her father not planning on stay over again, but it had taken a while to calm her down about the recent events. She prodded for details – about the investigation, but mostly if “He told her how he felt” and was more than pleased when he simply replied “We … talked.” With her father’s monosyllabic manners, that was _more_ than enough.

It looked like he’d dozed off going through the employment records again. She was exhausted and boneless. He quietly gathered her lithe body in his arms, holding her quietly for a long moment. Cradling her fatigued, aching head against his chest, fully encasing her in a tight embrace. She went slack for a moment, resting against his strong body. Then she straightened.

“I need to catch some sleep. Back here early tomorrow.”

“Key?” She handed over her car key. When they’d worked together, they had always carefully kept track of who was driving and had evenly distributed their driving hours. But now? John liked taking care of her and taking whatever he could off her plate. And the fact that she _let him_ just showed how ragged this case had been running her. She’d been dealing with a lot of accusations of not getting the case solved before this happened and was dealing with the repercussions and backlash while trying to keep her team motivated and in line and not getting caught up in the inter-departmental squabbles over jurisdiction.

She nibbled on a piece of cold pizza on the short drive. They were silent, but not uncomfortably so. They’d cleared the air between them. John knew there was still something she hadn’t opened up about and he tried to make sense of the scene he’d observed when he’d gone to talk to her. And her call and why she hadn’t tried again. And whether she’d taken that pill … But these were questions for another day. He understood that what was happening here was taking precedence. And he remembered their last case – and how she had understood _him_ and given him the space and unwavering support he needed.

Her eyes had fallen shut and he wasn’t sure if she’d fallen asleep as he pulled into her lot. He parked as close to the entrance as possible and was debating waking her or attempting to carry her upstairs when her eyes snapped open, momentarily disoriented. She got out of the car and he quickly scrambled to catch up, grabbing her hand as they walked across the lot and caught her smiling tiredly. She leaned into him on the way up. 

She was barely through the door when she started undressing, unbuttoning her shirt and then the fly of her pants, moving to pull them off. “Shower.” She explained at his slightly confused expression.

He didn’t quite trust her to keep standing on her own and hovered in the door to her bathroom and watched her take her bra off and as she was removing those black lacy things, she interrupted his very distracted thoughts.

“Are you just going to stand there?”

He blushed profusely at having been caught staring … and at the very clear invitation to join her. And raced to remove his own clothes while she’d turned on the water, waiting for it to warm to a comfortable temperature and he joined her just as she was about to step inside.

She leaned her back against his chest as she let the warm water run over her and he helped, gently wetting her hair, holding her. She’d grabbed her shampoo and started working it into her hair until his hands joined in, massaging her scalp and neck and she sighed happily into the soft pressure of his skilled fingers and the sigh sent a rush of blood to his groin. As she was rinsing her hair, she turned around to face him, standing up on her toes and reaching for him, pressing warm and wet kisses to his mouth and sighing into his eager response. He reached for her shower oil and recognized the subtle, feminine scent that was entirely her. And it apparently worked as advertised – her skin was soft and smooth beneath his touch as he applied it languorously over her back and her buttocks and he felt her pressing against him and he wanted nothing more than to lift her up and press hard into her against the shower stall, but thought better of it.

“Bought condoms.” He murmured gently.

Her disapproving near growl at the thought of stopping and getting out of the warm shower was her only reply, but John had thought better of it and she gasped as he’d turned her around in a demonstration of his sheer strength, flipping her effortlessly and pulling her against him with a wet flop.

“Let me take care of you.” He rasped roughly against her ear as his rough fingers applied the oil to her chest, massaging her breast, stroking her hardened nipples with his rough fingertips, before pinching them with perfect pressure and rolling them between his fingers. She groaned into him, pushing herself against his chest, feeling his hard erection strain above her buttocks and she felt him buck into her at the contact. He kissed her neck roughly, his beard rubbing against the sensitive skin of her neck and his arms holding her tightly in place.

“Are you going to let me?” He rasped dangerously, sucking on the skin of her neck and undoubtedly leaving a hickey and as his hands skated over her breasts again, traveling down to her hips and his hands wrapping firmly around her hipbones, pressing his erection hard into her as she gasped and mewled at the pressure. When his hand slipped between her legs, parting them wide and all the while holding her steady with his other arm wrapped around her torso, she found herself whimpering for his touch and he obliged, but not without grunting hotly against her.

“I want to make you come.” His possessive touch and words made her weak in the knees. He kissed her behind her ear as his fingers brushed roughly over her clit and parted her folds as he pressed the palm of his hand over her mound. His large index finger teasing her opening as he fucked her clit with the sheer pressure of his palm as she ground herself against his straining length and he bucked into her involuntarily.

“Jesus _fuuuuck_ ” was the first thing she uttered since they’d gotten into the shower, followed by a desperate “Jooohn.” as he pressed his index finger inside of her and he felt her clamping around him as he fucked her with his finger methodically. She arched into his touch, whining when he replaced firm pressure with teasing strokes. The moment she slightly relaxed against him, he added his middle finger and fucked her hard and fast, holding her tight against his entire body, until he felt her come undone and cry out as she trembled against him. He replaced his hand with his other holding her in place as he wrapped his soaked right hand around his painfully strained erection and came hard after a few sloppy pumps of his own.

He was still panting when she turned and wrapped herself into his embrace, pulling him down into a fierce kiss and smiling a saucy “I’m going to be sleeping really well now.” into his lips and he held onto her under the warm spray of the shower until resuming his gentle ministrations and washing her body gently until she shut off the water and tore herself away from his warmth. He followed behind, too busy wrapping the soft towel around her to bother with his own dripping wet and naked body and after rubbing himself dry, followed her to her bedroom. Stark naked.

She didn’t bother with PJs either, slipping underneath her covers and curling around his warm body when he joined her. “I love you.” He whispered into her hair, holding her tight. He felt her sigh and relax against him, mumbling “J’t’aime.” Before they both slipped into exhausted, much too short dreams.


	9. Neuf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well ... I was going to post this update on the weekend as part of the advent calendar, but then that little Tinder / jealous John plot got a little out of hand... and this had to wait in line. But here we are. WAAAAAAAAH. This is it, people. LAST CHAPTER. I may write a little epilogue after this one. But this is IT. I think I might be a little teary eyed that this is coming to end. Oh FINE. I'm actually SOBBING. Because there’s a massive change of pace to the fluffy Christmas editions and there's some serious whump and angst there at the end. And while I don’t want to spoil anything, it could be a sensitive topic for some, so it does come with a fair warning: this chapter contains mentions of pregnancy, miscarriage and infertility. So now that seems like a very sucky advent calendar chapter and I felt genuinely like a horrible person for posting it :-( You're all gonna hate me after this angst fest *sob* But I SWEAR, the rest of December will be an angst free zone, sprinkled with glitter and snow and spice and fluff and smut and all things nice. OK? Promise!

Lise woke slowly and groggy. It had not been nearly enough to get anywhere near enough rest, but she felt calm. And that had a lot to do with the warm breath she felt against her shoulder and the large hand splayed over her naked abdomen. She’d never felt particularly comfortable sleeping naked, but the touch of his skin against hers made her feel _whole_. And just for a moment she soaked in the feeling of being safe and savored the serenity and tranquility. She knew that the moment she left his embrace behind, it would be shattered and she would be confronted with the numbers and the horrors of those that had not made it through the night.

And he seemed to be able to read her thoughts, the way he always had, cradling her carefully in his arms. Reaching around her as if he was trying to feel all of her, to hold her entire being in his hands and his heart, just for one more fleeting moment. And she almost couldn’t bear to tear herself away, breathing in and out, soaking up his strength and his calm. She would need it today. After a sweet, slow and languorous kiss, as if by unspoken agreement, they both got up, dressed, downed a quick cup of coffee, but not without soft touches of reassurance and connection. Attuned to each other, but both their minds on the tasks ahead with the attention needed.

They didn’t speak on their drive in. They had no need to. Something had fallen into place between them, something that had rendered speaking unnecessary once again. _The way it had always been_ with them. They knew each other’s thoughts as if they were conversing telepathically. And the drive, that was the last bubble, the last reprieve, the last quiet moment they were going to get that day and they _rested_ in each other’s presence, knowing what mayhem lay ahead. They kissed, one last time, in the elevator, affirming their confessions the previous day and their hands finally separated as Lise went to the Emergency Task Force briefing downstairs in the larger conference room, and John settled over the files in the conference room. _Divide and conquer._

Hanson had seen them come in and the entire energy around them made him have to face up to the fact that whatever crush he’d been harboring for her, her heart had always belonged to this man. There had always been an air of sadness around her, practically from the day she’d arrived and there was almost nothing of it left. It wasn’t that she seemed happy, she was somber, but something had _healed_. And similarly, a burden had been lifted from him. Hanson hovered, in case he needed something.

“Hanson, can we get the information on the security guards for Union Station? Can you fast track those records.”

They had a BOLO out on their primary suspect. He had not been seen nor had he been back to his apartment. Nor to any other properties nor any that he would have access to. They needed to get the identities of his associates. One of them had to be the key. And he’d remembered something. He’d dreamt of something, a conversation he’d had with Lise, something that had triggered an unconscious niggling thought. There was something he’d seen and it had been just below the surface.

They had to have met somewhere. Shared some kind of history, uniting them in their shared ideology. Their mission. _Mission._ The military records had not been of much use. None of the people he’d served with had seem to hold any significance. John knew the familiar feeling that he had all the pieces, but he had not been able to piece them together. Afghanistan. Terror at home. And suddenly he knew what it had been. He’d dreamt about Lise, a pleasant, warm dream. A promise she’d made him once “Well, I’m not going anywhere.” One she had not kept, but then she’d stayed. When it had mattered. And even in his dreams, he realized she’d loved him, even then and she would never have left him, not with good reason. And it had been scratching at the surface of his subconscious. That conversation had entailed something else. Neck tattoos.

“Constable? I’m going to need that surveillance camera footage again.”

And after three hours of reviewing footage in slow motion, sure enough, there it was. It was an hour before the first robbery. A large, muscular man was strolling through the inside of the bank, wearing a V-neck shirt. He didn’t seem to do much of anything. Not standing in line, not waiting for anyone. And there, at the edge of the hem, below his comically thick neck, two tips of what could only be a trident tattoo were visible. After loitering for 10 minutes, he left.

“Hanson! We need an ID on this guy! Have them run it through the US databases, too. I think this guy is American. Military databases, too. Could be a _sailor._ ”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on that.”

“And Hanson? Get _her_.”

After keying the information into computers, Hanson got her out of a meeting, telling her John had something.

“I think this is one of the accomplices. Look at the videos. Stature is the same. That big burly neck? What does that tattoo look like to you?”

She squinted at the still on the screen. “A trident?”

And John nodded. “That’s what I thought too. I think he might be American. Navy maybe.”

“Could have met in Afghanistan.”

“Smuggled the weapons across from the US. They wouldn’t have problems getting their hands on semi-automatics there.”

“Disappear across the border when things get too hot.”

“You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think they didn’t leave the crime scenes. Not by car anyway. They got out through the emergency exits. Had their old service uniforms waiting in a duffle. Changed when they got out.”

“No one would have looked too closely at someone in uniform. Put the money in a duffle. And they just walked straight out of there. And John?”

“Yeah?”

“Look at the map.”

“What are you seeing?”

“They’re all pretty close to the waterfront.”

“You think they got away on a boat?”

“Yeah. Just walked out of there and got on a boat, crossing into New York.”

“No roadblocks. Just call customs. They’ve probably done it a dozen of times.”

“Smuggled the weapons that way, too.”

“We need an address on this guy.”

“I need to inform RCMP. They need to coordinate with the FBI.”

And from that moment on, it was a flurry of activity and as chaos broke out around them, with people shouting commands, phones ringing off the hook and people getting ready for a raid, they stood in the aquarium, side by side.

“You did it.”

“We did it. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You going to go?”

“If they let me.”

“They will. Be careful out there.”

“I will.”

And she returned, five hours later, sweaty and exhausted, a red angry scratch across her forehead. She’d been fending calls from the mayor, the chief of police and the commissioner of the RCMP all night, running high on adrenaline. John had caught the gist of it, through Hanson, the radios … and the news. The arrest of two Canadian and one American citizens that had wrought havoc on Toronto had made the evening news. They’ been arrested in a lake house on the shore of Lake Ontario, with over a million Canadian dollars and a dozen weapons. The chief of the RCMP had been giving a dozen interviews, praising the close collaboration with the Toronto Police Service and Homicide Squad whose _competence and diligence_ had let to the arrest.

John had taken the keys she’d offered and driven them home, stopping for takeaway on the way home. She was hungry and dug in as soon as they’ returned. She dragged him into the shower again, but instead of their earlier pent-up passion, John worried about her injuries. He washed the caked blood off her face and then carefully and gingerly, the rest of her sore and bruised body. And he followed her to bed and as they lay side by side, John thumbed over the gash on her forehead gently.

“Guy hit me with a gun.” She shrugged. “So I tackled him.”

“I told you to be careful.”

“I’m fine.”

“Lise …what if you’re …”

And she sighed, burying her head in his chest.

“I don’t think I am …” she trailed off, burying herself deeper in his arms.

And John, sensing her muscles tensing under him, drew her in gently. He knew there had been something that she hadn’t been able to talk about, something he couldn’t quite make sense of.

And he was confused, _not sure_. “Did you take it?” He asked, surprised and paused, ever so slightly. “It looked … untouched?”

And she inhaled and exhaled. And inhaled, before answering and John felt the tension radiate off of her in waves, laboring as she struggled to find the words. 

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

And he felt moisture soak his shirt and it was a moment before she spoke, a lump in her throat “I _was_ pregnant.” And John tightened his arms around her instinctively, feeling her unease, before the words even registered. He couldn’t quite make sense of what she was saying, not until she continued, her words now spilling out, rushed, in controlled, short, automatic sentence. Like something a doctor might say. Cold and clinical.

“I didn’t realize. I didn’t think anything of it when I didn’t get my period. The move, new job. It was all very stressful and I didn’t think about missing another. Just spotting a month later ... and then I started feeling sick, nauseous, fatigued and it finally hit me. So I took a test.”

John sighed heavily, the pain she had been feeling, her strange reactions, they started to make sense as the puzzle pieces started falling into place.

“When I called ... you sounded so off. And I couldn’t get myself to tell you over the phone. So I decided I’d drive up there on the weekend, tell you in person.”

 _Jesus_. A wave of guilt washed over him, flooding his consciousness as he started realizing the extent of her words. She’d called him to tell him she was _pregnant_. And he’d … he’d blown her off. And his heart broke for the pain he must have caused her.

“I’m sorry …. I was … not in a good frame of mind.”

Lise squeezed his bicep and paused, before continuing. As she his guilt and regret rose, she found it even more difficult to continue. “I … would have. But oon Friday the stomach pain got worse. And then the bleeding started and I just passed out in the middle of the precinct. They took me to the hospital. I was in and out of it for days.”

“God, Lise.” John choked, his eyes filling with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone. If only I’d known ...”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything ... it never would have ... survived. It was ... outside the womb. It ruptured ... my ... fallopian tube and they had to remove it surgically.”

And as Lise tried to hang on to her composure, John lost his, completely, his face tearing up as empathy for what she’d been through, what she’d suffered, _alone_ , because he didn’t get his feelings sorted out and his heart filled with self-hatred for what he’d caused. All of it. “It kills me that you were alone. God I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, John. Don’t blame yourself, please.” Lise disentangled herself from his shirt, moving up to face him, cradling his broken face between her hands. “I should have told you. But it was ... pretty serious, because I hadn’t realized I was pregnant for such a long time. Or they would have caught it earlier. And I didn’t even really have time to figure out how I felt about it. If I ... even wanted it. If you would have. I just ... couldn’t tell you. Not after …”

“… we lost our baby.” John’s eyes filled with tears and he buried his face in hers, chest and heart heaving heavily against hers. “I ... would have. Wanted it. If that’s what you would have wanted. I mean ... you said you never wanted that ...”

“But it was yours. It was … _ours_.”

“Oh honey.” John was wrecked. He’d had no idea.

“I was in the hospital for a week. And then just buried myself in work. I was numb. I just … couldn’t deal with it. It was like I lost both of you that day.”

“You didn’t lose me.”

“So ... I didn’t take it. I just couldn’t. I just felt like I was losing you all over… and it just brought all of it back.”

“So ... we might be ...”

“They told me … that the reason it happened was scar tissue … and that would make it difficult to get pregnant.”

“But … not out of the realm of possibility?” And he splayed his large hand over her stomach again.

“Chances are … pretty low.”

“We got a second chance. I won’t let anything come between us. Not again.” John paused, painfully. “I … came to see you. After you called me. I saw _you_. Saw you with someone else, someone younger, someone who would make you happier. And I felt so guilty. You looked like you were in so much pain. And it had to be because of me.”

“It wasn’t, John. It wasn’t your fault. None of it was.”

“I didn’t know. I had no _idea._ ” He gulped.

“It was just too much to deal with, _then_. Until you waltzed back into my life. I’d missed you, so much. It was like I’d been missing a piece of myself all these years.”

“You and me, Lise. It’s all that matters. You’re my … True North. I know that now. I’ve been _lost_ without you.”

“So … what now? Algonquin Bay is your home.”

“You’re my home. I’m not going anywhere.” And Lise curled into him and he wrapped his body around her, keeping her safe as they grieved what they had lost. And held onto each other and the hope for a future together and fell asleep, exhausted. 


End file.
